b7rkelTy\ 
LIBRARY 

JNIVERSiTY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 


EDWARD  BULWER  LYTTON. 


RIENZI 


^     ^      IvlJJiiNZ-.l       ^     ^ 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  ROMAN  TRIBUNES 

V 


■^IMMHB^BV^        %:_* 


By    EDWARD  BULWER  LYTTON 

(LORD  LYTTON) 


Let  the  mountains  exult  around ! 
On  her  seven-hill'd  throne  renown 'd, 
Once  more  old  Rome  is  crown'd ! 

Jubilate ! 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,      ^    ^    .^    ^ 
^    ^    ^      PUBLISHERS.  NEW  YORK 


<*>». 


UBRARY 


to 

ALESSANDRO    MANZONI, 

AS 

TO  THE   GENIUS   OF  THE  PLACE 

ARE   DEDICATED 

THESE    FRUITS. 

GATHERED  ON 

THE  SOIL  OF  ITALIAN  FICTIOH 


^.ondon,  Dec.  i.  1831, 


-*rV- 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION   OF 

RIENZI. 


I  BEGAN  this  tale  two  years  ago  at  Rome.  On  removing  to  Naples,  I 
threw  it  aside  for  **  The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii,"  which  required  more  than 
"  Rienzi  "  the  advantage  of  residence  within  reach  of  the  scenes  described. 
The  fate  of  the  Roman  Tribune  continued,  however,  to  haunt  and  impress 
me,  and,  some  time  after  "  Pompeii "  was  published,  I  renewed  my  earlier 
undertaking.  I  regarded  the  completion  of  these  volumes,  indeed,  as  a  kind 
of  duty  ;  for  having  had  occasion  to  read  the  original  authorities  from  which 
modern  historians  have  drawn  their  accounts  of  the  life  of  Rienzi,  I  was  led 
to  believe  that  a  very  remarkable  man  had  been  superficially  judged,  and  a 
very  important  period  crudely  examined.*  And  this  belief  was  sufficiently 
strong  to  induce  me  at  first  to  meditate  a  more  serious  work  upon  the  life 
and  times  of  Rienzi.  f  Various  reasons  concurred  against  this  project  and 
I  renounced  the  biography  to  commence  the  fiction.  I  have  still,  however, 
adhered,  with  a  greater  fidelity  than  is  customary  in  Romance,  to  all  the 
leading  events  of  the  public  life  of  the  Roman  Tribune  ;  and  the  reader  will 
perhaps  find  in  these  pages  a  more  full  and  detailed  account  of  the  rise  and 
fall  of  Rienzi,  than  in  any  English  work  of  which  I  am  aware.  I  have,  it 
is  true,  taken  a  view  of  his  character  different  in  some  respects  from  that  of 
Gibbon  or  Sismondi.  But  it  is  a  view,  in  all  its  main  features,  which  I  be- 
lieve (and  think  I  could  prove)  myself  to  be  warranted  in  taking,  not  less  by 
the  facts  of  history  than  the  laws  of  fiction.  In  the  mean  while,  as  I  have 
given  the  facts  from  which  I  have  drawn  my  interpretation  of  the  principal 
agent,  the  reader  has  sufficient  data  for  his  own  judgment.  In  the  picture 
of  the  Roman  populace,  as  in  that  of  the  Roman  nobles  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  I  follow  literally  the  descriptions  left  to  us  ;  they  are  not  flattering, 
but  they  are  faithful,  likenesses. 

Preserving  generally  the  real  chronology  of  Rienzi's  life,  the  plot  of  this 
work  extends  over  a  space  of  some  years,  and  embraces  the  variety  of  charac- 
ters necessary  to  a  true  delineation  of  events.  The  story,  therefore,  cannot 
have  precisely  that  order  of  interest  found  in  fictions  strictly  and  genuinely 
dramatic,  in  which  (to  my  judgment,  at  least)  the  time  ought  to  be  as  limited 
as  possible,  and  the  characters  as  few — no  new  character  of  importance  to 
the  catastrophe  being  admissible  towards  the  end  of  the  work.  If  I  may  use 
the  word  epic  in  its  most  modest  and  unassuming  acceptation,  this  fiction,  in 
short,  though  indulging  in  dramatic  situations,  belongs,  as  a  whole,  rather  to 
the  epic  than  the  dramatic  school. 

I  cannot  conclude  without  rendering  the  tribute  of  my  praise  and  homage 

•  See  Appendix,  Nos.  I.  and  II. 

t  I  have  adopted  the  termination  of  Rienz\  instead  of  Riftizo,  as  being  more  familiar  to 
the  general  reader. — Hut  the  latter  is  perhaps  the  more  accurate  reading,  since  the  nanM 
WAS  a  popular  corruption  from  Lorenzo. 


VI  1»kEFACE. 

to  the  versatile  and  gifted  author  of  the  beautiful  Tragedy  of  Rienzi.  Con- 
sidering that  our  hero  be  the  Same — considering  that  we  had  the  same 
materials  from  which  to  choose  our  several  stories — I  trust  I  shall  be  found 
to  have  little,  if  at  all,  trespassed  upon  ground  previously  occupied.  "With 
the  single  exception  of  a  love-intrigue  between  a  relative  of  Rienzi  and  one 
of  the  antagonist  party,  which  makes  the  plot  of  Miss  Mitford's  tragedy,  and 
is  little  more  than  an  episode  in  my  romance,  having  slight  effect  on  the  con- 
duct and  none  on  the  fate  of  the  hero,  I  am  not  aware  of  any  resemblance 
between  the  two  works  ;  and  even  i/iis  coincidence  I  could  easily  have  re- 
moved, had  I  deemed  it  the  least  advisable — but  it  would  be  almost  dis- 
creditable if  I  had  nothing  that  resembled  a  performance  possessing  so  much 
it  were  an  honor  to  imitate. 

In  fact,  the  prodigal  materials  of  the  story — the  rich  and  exuberant  com- 
plexities of  Rienzi's  character — joined  to  the  advantage  possessed  by  the 
^ovelist  of  embracing  all  that  the  dramatist  must  reject  * — are  sufficient  to 
prevent  dramatist  and  novelist  from  interfering  with  each  other. 

iu>ndon^  December  i,  1835. 

*  Thus  the  slender  space  permitted  to  the  dramatist  does  not  allow  Miss  Mitford  to  be 
verj'  faithful  to  facts  ;  to  distinguish  between  iRienzi's  earlier  and  his  later  period  of  power; 
•r  10  4ctail  the  true,  but  somewhat  intricate,  causes  of  his  rise,  his  splendor,  and  hu  fall. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  PRESENT  EDITION, 

1848. 


From  the  time  of  its  first  appearance,  "  Rienzi "  has  had  the  good  fortune 
to  rank  high  amongst  my  most  popular  works,  though  its  interest  is  rather 
drawn  from  a  faithful  narration  of  historical  facts,  than  from  the  inventions 
of  fancy.  And  the  success  of  this  experiment  confirms  me  in  my  belief, 
that  the  true  mode  of  employing  history  in  the  service  of  romance  is  to  study 
diligently  the  materials  as  history  ;  conform  to  such  views  of  the  facts  as  the 
author  would  adopt,  if  he  related  them  in  the  dry  character  of  historian  ;  and 
obtain  that  warmer  interest  which  fiction  bestows,  by  tracing  the  causes  of  the 
facts  in  the  characters  and  emotions  of  the  personages  of  the  time.  The 
events  of  his  work  are  thus  already  shaped  to  his  hand — the  characters  al- 
ready created — what  remains  for  him  is  the  inner,  not  outer,  history  of  man — 
the  chronicle  of  the  human  heart ;  and  it  is  by  this  that  he  introduces  a  new 
harmony  between  character  and  event,  and  adds  the  completer  solution  of 
what  is  actual  and  true,  by  those  speculations  of  what  is  natural  and  prob- 
able, which  are  out  of  the  province  of  history,  but  belong  especially  to  the 
philosophy  of  romance.  And — if  it  be  permitted  the  tale-teller  to 
come  reverently  for  instruction  in  his  art  to  the  mightiest  teacher  of 
all,  who,  whether  in  the  page  or  on  the  scene,  would  give  to  airy  fancies 
the  breath  and  the  form  of  life — such,  we  may  observe,  is  the  lesson 
the  humblest  craftsman  in  historical  romance  may  glean  from  the  historical 
plays  of  Shakespeare.  Necessarily,  Shakespeare  consulted  history  according 
to  the  imperfect  lights,  and  from  the  popular  authorities,  of  his  age  ;  and  I 
do  not  say,  therefore,  that  as  an  historian  we  can  rely  upon  Shakespeare  as 
correct.  But  to  that  in  which  he  believed  he  rigidly  adhered  :  nor  did  he 
seek,  as  lesser  artists  (such  as  Victor  Hugo  and  his  disciples),  seek  now,  to 
turn  perforce  the  historical  into  the  poetical,  but  leaving  history  as  he  found 
it,  to  call  forth  from  its  arid  prose  the  flower  of  the  latent  poem.  Nay,  even 
in  the  more  imaginative  plays  which  he  has  founded  upon  novels  and  legends 
popular  in  his  time,  it  is  curious  and  instructive  to  see  how  little  he  has  al- 
tered the  original  ground-work,  taking  for  granted  the  main  materials  of  the 
story,  and  reserving  all  his  matchless  resources  of  wisdom  and  invention  to 
illustrate,  from  mental  analysis,  the  creations  whose  outline  he  was  content 
to  borrow.  He  receives,  as  a  literal  fact  not  to  be  altered,  the  somewhat  in- 
credible assertion  of  the  novelist,  that  the  pure  and  delicate  and  high-born 
Venetian  loves  the  swarthy  Moor  ;  and  that  Romeo,  fresh  from  his  "  woes 
for  Rosaline,"  becomes  suddenly  enamoured  of  Juliet :  he  found  the  Improb- 
able, and  employed  his  ait  to  make  it  truthful. 

That  "  Rienzi  "  should  have  attracted  peculiar  attention  in  Italy  is  o\ 
course  to  be  attributed  to  the  choice  of  the  .subject,  ratlier  than  to  the  skill 
of  the  author.  It  has  been  translated  into  the  Italian  language  by  eminent 
writer^  ;  and  the  authorities  for  the  new  view  of  Kienzi's  times  and  chaiacter 
which  the  author  rieemed  himself  w.irranied  to  take,  have  been  compared  with 
his  text  by  carefql  critics  and  illustrious  scholars,  in  those  states  in  which  the 

vii 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

work  has  been  permitted  to  circulate.*  I  may  say,  T  trust  without  unworthy 
pride,  that  the  result  has  confirmed  the  accuracy  of  delineations  which  Eng- 
lish readers,  relying  only  on  the  brilliant  but  disparaging  account  in  Gibbon, 
deemed  too  favorable  ;  and  has  tended  to  restore  tiie  great  Tribune  to  his 
long  forgotten  claims  to  the  love  and  reverence  of  the  Italian  land.  Nor,  if 
I  may  trust  to  the  assurances  that  have  reached  me  from  many  now  engaged 
in  the  aim  of  political  regeneration,  has  the  effect  of  that  revival  of  the 
honors  due  to  a  national  hero,  leading  to  the  ennobling  study  of  great  ex- 
amples, been  wholly  without  its  influence  upon  the  rising  generation  of 
Italian  youth,  and  thereby  upon  those  stirring  events  which  have  recently 
drawn  the  eyes  of  Europe  to  the  men  and  the  lands  beyond  the  Alps. 

In  preparing  for  the  press  this  edition  of  a  work  illustrative  of  the  exer- 
tions of  a  Roman,  in  advance  of  his  time,  for  the  political  freedom  of  his 
country,  and  of  those  struggles  between  contending  principles,  of  which  Italy 
was  the  most  stirring  field  in  the  Middle  Ages,  it  is  not  out  of  place  or  sea- 
son to  add  a  few  sober  words,  whether  as  a  student  of  the  Italian  past,  or  as 
an  observer,  with  some  experience  of  the  social  elements  of  Italy  as  it  now 
exists,  upon  the  state  of  affairs  in  that  country. 

It  is  nothing  new  to  see  the  Papal  Church  iH  the  capacity  of  a  popular  re- 
former, and  in  contra- position  to  the  despotic  potentates  of  the  several  states, 
as  well  as  to  the  German  Emperor,  who  nominally  inherits  the  sceptre  of  the 
Caesars.  Such  was  its  common  character  under  its  more  illustrious  pontiffs  ; 
and  the  old  Republics  of  Italy  grew  up  under  the  shadow  of  the  Papal 
throne,  harboring  ever  two  factions — the  one  for  the  Emperor,  the  one  for  the 
Pope— the  latter  the  more  naturally  allied  to  Italian  independence.  On  the 
modern  stage,  we  almost  see  the  repetition  of  many  an  ancient  drama.  But 
the  past  should  teach  us  to  doubt  the  continuous  and  steadfast  progress  of 
any  single  line  of  policy  under  a  principality  so  constituted  as  that  of  the 
Papal  Church — a  principality  m  which  no  race  can  be  perpetuated,  in  which 
no  objects  can  be  permanent  ;  in  which  the  successor  is  chosen  by  a  select 
ecclesiastical  synod,  under  a  variety  of  foreign  as  well  as  of  national  influ- 
ences ;  in  which  the  chief  usually  ascends  the  throne  at  an  age  that  ill  adapts 
his  mind  to  the  idea  of  human  progress,  and  the  active  direction»of  mundane 
affairs  ;  a  principality  in  which  the  peculiar  sanctity  that  wraps  the  person 
of  the  sovereign  exonerates  him  from  the  healthful  liabilities  of  &  power 
purely  temporal,  and  directly  accountable  to  man.  A  reforming  pope  is  a 
lucky  accident,  and  dull  indeed  must  be  the  brain  which  believes  in  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  long  succession  of  reforming  popes,  or  which  can  regard  as  other 
than  precarious  and  unstable  the  discordant  combination  of  a  constitutional 
government  with  an  infallible  head. 

It  is  as  true  as  it  is  trite  that  political  freedom  is  not  the  growth  of  a  day- 
it  is  not  a  flower  without  a  stalk — and  it  must  gradually  develop  itself  from 
amidst  the  unfolding  leaves  of  kindred  institutions. 

In  one  respect  the  Austrian  domination,  fairly  considered,  has  been  bene- 
ficial to  the  states  over  which  it  has  been  directly  exercised,  and  may  be  even 
said  to  have  unconsciously  schooled  them  to  the  capacity  for  freedom.  In 
those  states  the  personal  rights  which  depend  on  impartial  and  incorrupt  ad- 
ministration of  the  law  are  infinitely  more  secure  than  in  most  of  the  courts 
of  Italy.  Bribery,  which  shamefully  predominates  ia  the  judicature  of  cer- 
tain principalities,  is  as  unknown  in  the  juridical  courts  of  Austrian  Italy  as 
in  England.  The  Emperor  himself  is  often  involved  in  legal  disputes  with 
a  subject,  and  justice  is  as  free  and  as  firm  for  the  humblest  suitor,  as  if  his 

f  In  the  Papal  States.  I  believe,  it  was,  neither  prudently  nor  effectually,  proscribed. 


PREFACE.  IX 

antagonist  were  his  equal.  Austria,  indeed,  but  holds  together  the  naotley 
and  inharmonious  members  of  its  vast  domain  on  either  side  the  Alps,  by  a 
p-eneral  cliaracter  of  paternal  mildness  and  forbearance  in  all  that  great 
circle  of  good  government  which  lies  without  the  one  principle  of  constitu- 
tional liberty.  It  asks  but  of  its  subjects  to  submit  to  be  well  governed, 
without  agitating  the  question  "  how  and  by  what  means  that  government  is 
carried  on."  For  every  man,  except  the  politician,  the  innovator,  Austria  is 
no  harsh  stepmother.  But  it  is  obviously  clear  that  the  better  in  othc-  res- 
pects the  administration  of  a  state,  it  does  but  foster  the  more  the  desi'e  for 
that  political  security  which  is  only  found  in  constitutional  freedom  the 
everence  paid  to  personal  rights  but  begets  the  passion  for  political  ;  and  • 
under  a  mild  despotism  are  already  half  matured  the  germs  of  a  popular  con- 
stitution. But  it  is  still  a  grave  question  whether  Italy  is  ripe  for  self-gov- 
srnment,  and  whether,  were  it  possible  that  the  Austrian  domination  could, 
be  shaken  off,  the  very  passions  so  excited,  the  very  bloodshed  so  poured 
forth,  would  not  ultimately  place  the  larger  portion  of  Italy  under  auspices 
less  favorable  to  the  sure  growth  of  freedom  than  those  which  silently  brighten 
under  the  sway  of  the  German  Caesar. 

The  two  kingdoms,  at  the  opposite  extremes  of  Italy,  to  which  circum- 
stance and  nature  seem  to  assign  the  main  ascendancy,  are  Naples  and  Sar- 
dinia. Looking  to  the  former,  it  is  impossible  to  discover  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  a  country  more  adapted  for  commercial  prosperity.  Nature  formed  it 
as  the  garden  of  Europe,  and  the  mart  of  the  Mediterranean.  Its  soil  and 
climate  could  unite  the  products  of  the  East  with  those  of  the  Western  hemi- 
sphere. The  rich  island  of  Sicily  should  be  the  great  corn  granary  of  the 
modern  nations,  as  it  was  of  the  ancient  ;  the  figs,  the  olives,  the  oranges,  of 
both  the  Sicilies,  under  skilful  cultivation,  should  equal  the  produce  of  Spain 
and  the  Orient,  and  the  harbors  of  the  kingdom  (the  keys  to  three-quarters 
of  the  globe)  should  be  crowded  with  the  sails  and  busy  with  the  life  of  com- 
merce. But,  in  the  character  of  its  population,  Naples  has  been  invariably 
in  the  rear  of  Italian  progress  ;  it  caught  but  partial  inspiration  from  the  free 
republics,  or  even  the  wise  tyrannies,  of  the  Middle  Ages;  the  theatre  of 
frequent  revolutions  without  fruit ;  and  all  rational  enthusiasm  created  by 
hat  insurrection,  which  has  lately  bestowed  on  Naples  the  boon  of  a  repre- 
sentative system,  cannot  but  be  tempered  by  the  conviction  that,  of  all  the 
states  in  Italy,  this  is  the  one  which  least  warrants  the  belief  of  permanence 
to  political  freedom,  or  of  capacity  to  retain  with  vigor  what  may  be  seized 
by  passion.* 

Far  otherwise  is  it  with  Sardinia.  Many  years  since,  the  writer  of  these 
pages  ventured  to  predict  that  the  time  must  come  when  Sardinia  would  lead 
the  ^'an  of  Italian  civilization,  and  take  proud  place  amongst  the  greater 
nations  of  Europe.     In  the  great  portion  of  this  population  there  is  visible 

•  If  the  Electoral  Chamber  in  the  new  Neapolitan  Constitution  give  a  fair  "hare  ?* 
members  to  the  Island  of  Sicily,  it  will  be  rich  in  the  inevitable  elei^erls  ^f  aiscord,  and 
nothing  save  a  wisdom  and  moderation  which  rannrxt  'obcrly  oe  anticipated,  can  prevent 
the  ultimate  separation  of  the  island  from  me  dominion  of  Naples.  Nature  has  set  the 
ocean  between  the  'wo  countries,  but  differences  in  character,  and  degree  and  quality  of 
""•'-•""ticn.  national  jealousies,  historical  memories,  have  trebled  the  space  of  the  seas  that 
loll  between  them.  Alore  easy  to  unite  under  one  free  Parliament  Spain  with  Flanders  ; 
cr  re-annex  to  Eii^^land  its  old  domains  of  Aquilaine  and  Normandy,  than  to  unite  in  one 
Council  Chamber  truly  popular,  the  passions,  interests,  and  prejudices  of  Sicily  and 
Naples,  'i'ime  will  show.  And  now,  in  May.  iS^g,  Time  has  already  shown  the  impracti- 
cability of  the  first  scheme  proposed  for  cordi.d  union  between  Naples  and  Sicily,  and  has 
rendered  it  utterly  impossible,  by  mutual  recollections  of  hatred,  bequeathed  by  a  civil  war 
of  singular  barbarism,  that  Naples  should  permanently  retain  Sicily  by  any  other  bold  than 
the  brute  force  of  conquest, 


3t  PREFACE. 

the  new  blood  of  a  young  race  ;  it  is  not,  as  with  other  Italian  states,  a  worn- 
out  stock  :  you  do  not  see  there  a  people  fallen,  pioud  of  the  past,  and  lazy 
amidst  ruins,  but  a  people  rising,  practical,  industrious,  active  :  there,  in  a 
word,  is  an  eager  youth  to  be  formed  to  mature  development,  not  a  decrepit 
age  to  be  restored  to  bloom  and  muscle.  Progress  is  the  great  characteristic 
of  the  Sardinian  state.  Leave  it  for  live  years  :  visit  it  again,  and  you  behold 
improvement.  When  you  enter  the  kingdom  and  find,  by  the  very  skirts  of 
its  admirable  roads,  a  raised  footpath  for  the  passengers  and  travelers  from 
town  to  town,  you  become  suddenly  aware  that  you  are  in  a  land  where  close 
attention  to  the  humbler  classes  is  within  the  duties  of  a  government.  As 
you  pass  on  from  the  more  purely  Italian  part  of  the  population — from  the 
Genoese  country  into  that  of  Piedmont — the  difference  between  a  new  people 
and  an  old,  on  which  I  have  dwelt,  becomes  visible  in  the  improved  cultiva- 
tion of  the  soil,  the  better  habitations  of  the  laborer,  the  neater  aspect  of  the 
Jtowns,  the  greater  activity  in  the  thoroughfares.  To  the  extraordinary 
virtues  of  the  King,  as  king,  justice  is  scarcely  done,  whether  in  England  or 
abroad.  Certainly,  despite  his  recent  concessions,  Charles  Albert  is  not, 
and  cannot  be  at  heart,  much  of  a  constitutional  reformer  ;  and  his  strong 
religious  tendencies,  which,  perhaps  unjustly,  have  procured  him  in  philo- 
sophical quarters  the  character  of  a  bigot,  may  link  him  more  than  his 
political,  with  the  cause  of  the  Father  of  his  Church.  But  he  is  nobly  and 
pre-eminently  national,  careful  of  the  prosperity  and  jealous  of  the  honor  of 
his  own  state,  while  conscientiously  desirous  of  the  independence  of  Italy. 
His  attention  to  business  is  indefatigable.  Nothing  escapes  his  vigilance. 
Over  all  departments  of  the  kingdom  is  the  eye  of  a  man  ever  anxious  to 
improve.  Already  the  silk  manufactures  of  Sardinia  almost  rival  those  of 
Lyons  :  in  their  own  departments  the  tradesmen  of  Turin  exhibit  an  artistic 
elegance  and  elaborate  finish  scarcely  exceeded  in  the  wares  of  London  and 
Paris.  The  King's  internal  regulations  are  admirable  ;  his  laws  administered 
with  the  most  impartial  justice  ;  his  forts  and  defences  are  in  that  order, 
without  which,  at  least  on  the  Continent,  no  land  is  safe  ;  his  army  is  the 
most  perfect  in  Italy.  His  wise  genius  extends  itself  to  the  elegant  as  to  the 
useful  arts — an  encouragement  that  shames  England,  and  even  France,  is 
bestowed  upon  the  School  for  Painters,  which  has  become  one  of  the  orna- 
ments of  his  illustrious  reign.  The  character  of  the  main  part  of  the  popula- 
tion, and  the  geographical  position  of  his  country,  assist  the  monarch,  and 
must  force  on  himself,  or  his  successors,  in  the  career  of  improvement  so 
signally  begun.  In  the  character  of  the  people  the  vigor  of  the  Northman 
ennobles  the  ardor  and  fancy  of  the  West.  In  the  position  of  the  country 
the  public  mind  is  brought  into  constant  communication  with  the  new  ideas 
in  the  free  lands  of  Europe.  Civilization  sets  in  direct  currents  towards  the 
streets  and  marts  of  Turin.  Whatever  the  result  of  the  present  crisis  in 
Italy,  no  power  and  no  chance  which  statesmen  can  predict  can  precliide 
Sardinia  from  ultimately  heading  all  that  is  best  in  Italy.  The  King  may  im- 
prove his  present  position,  or  peculiar  prejudices,  inseparable  perhaps  from 
the  heritage  of  absolute  monarchy,  and  which  the  raw  and  rude  councils  of 
an  Electoral  Chamber  newly  called  into  life  must  often  irritate  and  alarm, 
«iay  check  his  own  progress  towards  the  master  throne  of  the  Ausonian  land. 
But  the  people  themselves,  sooner  or  later,  will  do  the  work^  of  the  Kin^. 
And  in  now  looking  around  Italy  for  a  race  worthy  of  Rienzi,  and  able  to 
accomplish  his  proud  dreams,  I  see  but  one  for  which  the  time  is  ripe  or  ripevf 
\ng,  and  I  place  the  hopes  of  Italy  in  the  men  of  Piedmont  and  Sardinia» 

i,ONDpN,  February  14,  1848, 


CONTENTS 


MGB 

l^EFACE  TO  THE   EDITION  OF  1835,  .  •••••••••V 

Preface  to  the  Edition  of  1848,     ••••••••««        Tii 


BOOK  I 

CHAP. 

I.  The  Brothers, _    .        :  ij 

II.  An  Historical  Survey — Not  to  be  Passed  over,  except  by  those  who  dislike  to 

Understand  what  they  Read, 23 

III.  The  Brawl, 28 

IV.  An  Adventure, 35 

V.  The  Description  of  a  Conspirator,  and  the  Dawn  of  the  Conspiracy,  .        .        .47 

VI.  Irene  in  the  Palace  of  Adrian  di  Castello, 57 

VII.  Upon  Love  and  Lovers, ,..60 

VIII.  The  Enthusiastic  Man  judged  by  the  Discreet  Man, 63 

IX.  When  the  People  saw  this  Picture,  every  one  Marvelled »  6C 

X.  A  Rough  Spirit  Raised,  which  may  hereafter  Rend  the  Wizard,      ...  70 

XI.  Nina  di  Raselli, 74 

XII.  The  Strange  Adventures  that  befell  Walter  de  Montreal,        «        •       •        •  81 

BOOK  II. 

I.  The  King  of  Provence,  and  his  Proposal,       ...••••.87 

II.  The  Interview,  and  the  Doubt,  .  ^ _  .         .         .         .  99 

III.  The  Situation  of  a  Popular  Patrician  in  Times  of  Popular  Discontent — Scene  of 

the  Lateran, 102 

IV.  The  Ambitious  Citizen,  and  the  Ambitious  Soldier,  .....        117 

V.  The  Procession  of  the  Barons — The  Beginning  of  the  End,  ....  127 

VI,  The  Conspirator  becomes  the  Magistrate, 130 

^VII.  Looking  after  the  Halter  when  the  Mare  is  Stolen, 134 

VlII.  The  Attack — the  Retreat — the  Election — and  the  Adhesion,   .        ,        ,        .       135 

BOOK  III. 

I.     The  Return  of  Walter  de  Montreal  to  his  Fortress, 143 

II.     The 'sife  of  Love  and  War — The  Messenger  of  Peace — The  Joust,        .        .        147 
III.     The  Conversation  between  the  Roman  and  the  Provencal — Adeline's  History — 

The  Moon-lit  Sea — The  Lute  and  the  Song, i6a 

BOOK   IV. 

I.    The  Boy  Angelo — The  Dream  of  Nina  fulfilled,     .......  174 

II.     The   Blessing  of  a  Councillor  whose   Interests  and  Heart  are  our  own — The 

Straws  thrown  upward, — do  they  portend  a  Storm  ? 185 

III.  The  Actor  Unmasked, 197 

IV.  The  Enemy's  Camp, 202 

V.     The  Night  and  its  Incidents, 205 

VI.     The  Celebrated  Citation, •...        2i< 

VII.    The  Festival, •       •       .  sif 


xii  CONTENTS. 

BOOK  V. 

CHAP.  ^  PAGE 

I.  The  Judgment  of  the  Tribune,        .•••«•••.•        .  222 

II.  The  Flight,  ...* •••«•        2^0 

III.  The  Battle, 234 

IV.  The  HoUowness  of  the  Base,      ....•..••.       242 
V.  The  Rottenness  of  the  Edifice, ,        ,        ,        ,        ,  248 

VI.  The  Fall  of  the  Temple,     ...........       253 

VII.  The  Successors  of  an  Unsuccessful  Revolution — ^Who  is  to  Blame,  the  For- 
saken One  or  the  Forsakers  ? 258 

BOOK  VI. 

I.  The  Retreat  of  the  Lover, •••o  '>.6t 

II.  The  Seeker, •••••  264 

III.  The  Flowers  amidst  the  Tombs,      ...•••••*.  274 

iV.  We  Obtain  what  we  Seek,  and  Know  it  not,      .•••«•  280 

V.  The  Error, ^        .  284 

BOOK  VII. 

I.    Avignon— The  two  Pages — The  Stranger  Beauty, 294 

II.     The  Character  of  a  Warrior  Priest — An  Interview — The  Intrigue  and  Counter- 
intrigue  of  Courts,  .        .        .        .        • .        301 

III.  Holy  Men — Sagacious    Deliberations — Just    Resolves — And    Sordid    Motives 

to  All, 306 

IV.  The  Lady  and  the  Page, 311 

V.  The  Inmate  of  the  Tower, 313 

VI.     The  Scent  does  not  Lie — The  Priest  and  the  Soldier 320 

VII,     Vaucluse  and  its  Genius  Loci— Old  Acquaintance  Renewed,         .         *        ,        .  321 

VIII.     The  Crowd — The  Trial — The  Verdict— The  Soldier  and  the  Page,         .        .       326 

IX.    Albornoz  and  Nina, 329 

BOOK  VIII. 

I.    The  Encampment, ..•••.  33s 

II.     Adrian  once  more  the  Guest  of  Montreal,  .         .         .         .       _.        •        •        344 

III.     Faithful  and  Ill-fated  Love — The  Aspirations  Survive  the  Affections,        .        .  349 

BOOK  IX. 

I.    The  Triumphal  Entrance, •        •        t        .  357 

II.     The  Masquerade, 361 

III.  Adrian's  Adventures  at  Palestrina,         .        .        .        ,        ,        .        .    _    .        .  371 

,    IV.  The  Position  of  the  Senator — The  Work  of  Years — The  Reward  of  Ambition,       376 

V.     The  Biwer   Bit 383 

VI.    The  Events  Gather  to  the  End, 386 


BOOK  X. 

'.  The  Conjunction  of  Hostile  Planets  in  the  House  of  Death 

II.  Montreal  at  Rome -His  reception  of  Angelo  Villani,        . 

III.  Montreal's  Banquet, 

IV.  The  Sentence  of  Walter  de  Montreal,        .... 
V.  The    Discovery, . 

VI.     The  Suspense, •        < 

VII.     The  Tax, 
VIII*.    The  Threshold  of  the  Event,  *  .     *  .     *  .     '  .    *  .    *  , 
Chapter  the  Last.    The  Close  of  the  Chase,         •       •       • 


390 
392 
396 
402 
407 
411 
415 
417 
421 

430 


'^«-*. 


RIENZI, 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES. 


BOOK  I. 
THE  TIME   THE  PLACE,  AND  THE  MEN. 

**Fu  da  sua  gioventudine  nutricato  di  latte  di  eloquenza;  buono  gram- 
natico,  megliore  rettorico,  autorista  buono  .  .  .  Oh,  come  spesso  diceva, 
'  Dove  sono  questi  buoni  Romani  ?  Dov'e  loro  somma  giustizia  ?  Poterommi 
trovare  in  tempo  che  questi  fioriscano?'  Era  bell  'omo.  .  .  .  Accadde  che 
uno  sue  frate  fu  ucciso,  e  non  ne  fu  fatta  vendetta  di  sua  morte  ;  '  non  lo 
p)te6  aiutare  ;  pensa  lungo  mano  vendicare  '1  sangue  di  suo  frate  :  pensa 
lunga  mano  dirizzare  la  cittate  di  Roma  male  guidata. ' — Vita  di  Cola  di 
A'ienzi.     Ed.  1828.     Forli. 

"  From  his  youth  he  was  nourished  with  the  milk  of  eloquence;  a  good 
grammarian,  a  better  rhetorician,  well  versed  in  the  writings  of  authors.  .  . 
Oh,  how  often  would  he  say,  *  Where  are  those  good  Romans  ?  Where  is 
their  supreme  justice  ?  Shall  I  ever  behold  such  times  as  those  in  which 
they  flourished?'  He  was  a  handsome  man.  ...  It  happened  that  a 
brother  of  his  was  slain,  and  no  retribution  was  made  for  his  death  :  he 
could  not  help  him  ;  long  did  he  ponder  how  to  avenge  his  brother's  blood  : 
long  did  he  ponder  how  to  direct  the  ill-guided  state  of  Rome." — Life  of 
(via  di  Rienzi, 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE     BROTHERS. 

The  celebrated  name  which  forms  the  title  to  this  work  will 
sufficiently  apprise  the  reader  that  it  is  in  the  earlier  half  of 
the  fourteenth  century  that  my  story  opens. 

It  was  on  a  summer  evening  that  two  youths  might  be  seen 
walking  beside  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  not  far  from  that  part  of 
Its  winding  course  which  sweeps  by  the  base  of  Mount  Aven- 
tine.  The  path  they  had  selected  was  remote  and  tranquil. 
It  was  only  At  a  distance  that  were  seen  the  scattered  and 


14  RIENZI, 

squalid  houses  that  bordered  the  river,  from  amidst  which  rose, 
dark  and  frequent,  the  high  roof  and  enormous  towers  which 
marked  the  fortified  mansion  of  some  Roman  baron.  On  one 
side  of  the  river,  behind  the  cottages  of  the  fishermen,  soared 
Mount  Janiculum,  dark  with  massive  foliage,  from  which 
gleamed,  at  frequent  intervals,  the  gray  walls  of  many  a  castel- 
lated palace,  and  the  spires  and  columns  of  a  hundrai 
churches  ;  on  the  other  side,  the  deserted  Aventine  rose  ab- 
rupt and  steep,  covered  with  thick  brushwood  ;  while,  on  the 
height,  from  concealed  but  numerous  convents,  rolled,  not  un- 
musically, along  the  quiet  landscape  and  rippling  waves,  the 
sound  of  the  holy  bell. 

Ot  the  young  men  introduced  in  this  scene,  the  elder,  who 
might  have  somewhat  passed  his  twentieth  year,  was  of  a  tall 
and  even  commanding  stature  ;  and  there  was  that  in  his  pres- 
ence remarkable  and  almost  noble,  despite  the  homeliness  of 
his  garb,  which  consisted  of  the  long,  loose  gown  and  the  plain 
tunic,  both  of  dark-gray  serge  which  distinguished,  at  that 
time,  the  dress  of  humbler  scholars  who  frequented  the  monas- 
teries for  such  rude  knowledge  as  then  yielded  a  scanty  return 
for  intense  toil.  His  countenance  was  handsome,  and  would 
have  been  rather  gay  than  thoughtful  in  its  expression,  but  for 
that  vague  and  abstracted  dreaminess  of  eye  which  so  usually 
denotes  a  propensity  to  revery  and  contemplation,  and  betrays 
that  the  past  or  the  future  is  more  congenial  to  the  mind  than 
the  enjoyment  and  action  of  the  present  hour. 

The  younger,  who  was  yet  a  boy,  had  nothing  striking  in  his 
appearance  or  countenance,  unless  an  expression  of  great 
sweetness  and  gentleness  could  be  so  called ;  and  there  was 
something  almost  feminine  in  the  tender  deference  with  which 
he  appeared  to  listen  to  his  companion.  His  dress  was  that 
usually  worn  by  the  hr.mbler  classes,  though  somewhat  neater, 
perhaps,  and  newer ;  and  the  fond  vanity  of  a  mother  might 
be  detected  in  the  care  with  which  the  long  and  silky  ringlets 
had  been  smoothed  and  parted  as  they  escaped  from  his  cap 
and  flowed  midway  down  his  shoulders. 

As  they  thus  sauntered  on,  beside  the  whispering  reeds  of 
the  river,  each  with  his  arm  round  the  form  of  his  comrade, 
there  was  a  grace  in  the  bearing,  in  the  youth,  and  in  the  evi- 
dent affection  of  the  brothers — for  such  their  connection — ■ 
which  elevated  the  lowliness  of  their  apparent  condition. 

"  Dear  brother,"  said  the  elder,  *'  1  cannot  express  to  thee 
how  I  enjoy  these  evening  hours.  To  you  alone  I  feel  as  if  I 
wer«  not  «  mere  v^i^ms^ry  and  idltf  when  I  Uik  of  the  uncer< 


THE    LAST    OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  I5 

tain  future,  and  build  up  my  castles  of  the  air.  Our  parents 
listen  to  me  as  if  I  were  uttering  fine  things  out  of  a  book  ; 
and  my  dear  mother,  Heaven  bless  her !  wipes  her  eyes,  and 
says,  *  Hark,  what  a  scholar  he  is.'  As  for  the  monks,  if  ever  I 
dare  look  from  my  Livy,  and  cry, '  Thus  should  Rome  be  again  !  * 
they  stare,  and  gape,  and  frown,  as  though  1  had  broached  an 
heresy.  But  you,  sweet  brother,  though  you  share  not  my 
studies,  sympathize  so  kindly  with  all  their  results — you  seem 
to  approve  my  wild  schemes,  and  to  encourage  my  ambitious 
hopes — that  sometimes  I  forget  our  birth,  our  fortunes,  and 
think  and  dare  as  if  no  blood  save  that  of  the  Teuton  Emperor 
flowed  through  our  veins." 

**  Methinks,  dear  Cola,"  said  the  younger  brother,  "that  Na- 
ture played  us  an  unfair  trick ;  to  you  she  transmitted  the 
royal  soul,  derived  from  our  father's  parentage  ;  and  to  me 
only  the  quiet  and  lovely  spirit  of  my  mother's  humble  lineage." 

"Nay,"  answered  Cola  quickly,  "you  would  then  have  the 
brighter  share,  for  I  should  have  but  the  barbarian  origin,  and 
you  the  Roman.  Time  was,  when  to  be  a  simple  Roman  was 
to  be  nobler  than  a  northern  king.  Well,  well,  we  may  live  to 
see  great  changes  !  " 

"I  shall  live  to  see  thee  a  great  man,  and  that  will  content 
me,"  said  the  younger,  smiling  affectionately ;  "  a  great  scholar 
all  confess  you  to  be  already  :  our  mother  predicts  your  for- 
tunes every  time  she  hears  of  your  welcome  visits  to  the 
Colonna." 

"  The  Colonna ! "  said  Cola  with  a  bitter  smile ;  "  the 
Colonna — the  pedants !  They  affect,  dull  souls,  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  past,  play  the  patron,  and  misquote  Latin  over 
their  cups  !  They  are  pleased  to  welcome  me  at  their  board, 
because  the  Roman  doctors  call  me  learned,  and  because 
Nature  gave  me  a  wild  wit,  which  to  them  is  pleasanter 
than  the  stale  jests  of  a  hired  buffoon.  Yes,  they  would  ad- 
vance my  fortunes — but  how  ?  by  some  place  in  the  public 
offices,  which  would  fill  a  dishonest  coffer,  by  wringing,  yet 
more  sternly,  the  hard-earned  coins  from  our  famishing  citi- 
zens !  If  there  be  a  vile  thing  in  the  world,  it  is  a  plebeian,  ad- 
vanced by  patricians,  not  for  the  purpose  of  righting  his  own 
order,  but  for  playing  the  pander  to  the  worst  interests  of  theirs. 
He  who  is  of  the  people  but  makes  himself  a  traitor  to  his  birth, 
if  he  furnishes  the  excuse  for  these  tyrant  hypocrites  to  lift  up 
their  hands  and  cry,  *  See  what  liberty  exists  in  Rome,  when  w^y 
the  patricians,  thus  elevate  a  plebeian  ?  *  Did  they  ever  elevate 
a  plebeian  if  he  sympathized  with  plebeians?     No,  brother; 


l6  RIENZI, 

should  I  be  lifted  above  our  condition,  I  will  be  raised  by  the 
arms  of  my  countrymen,  and  not  upon  their  necks." 

"  All  I  hope  is,  Cola,  that  you  will  not,  in  your  zeal  for  your 
feilow-citizens,  forget  how  dear  you  are  to  us.  No  greatness 
could  ever  reconcile  me  to  the  thought  that  it  brought  you 
danger." 

"And  /  could  laugh  at  all  danger,  it  it  led  to  greatness. 
But  greatness — greatness  !  Vain  dream  !  Let  us  keep  it  for 
our  flight  sleep.  Enough  of  my  plans  ;  now,  dearest  brother, 
of  yours." 

And,  with  the  sanguine  and  cheerful  elasticity  which 
belonged  to  him,  the  young  Cola,  dismissing  all  wilder  thoughts, 
bent  his  mind  to  listen,  and  to  enter  into,  the  humbler  pro- 
jects of  his  brother.  The  new  boat  and  the  holiday  dress,  and 
the  cot  removed  to  a  quarter  more  secure  from  the  oppression 
of  the  barons,  and  such  distant  pictures  of  love  as  a  dark  eye 
and  a  merry  lip  conjure  up  to  the  vague  sentiments  of  a  boy — 
to  schemes  and  aspirations  of  which  such  objects  made  the 
limit,  did  the  scholar  listen,  with  a  relaxed  brow  and  a  tender 
smile  ;  and  often,  in  later  life  did  that  conversation  occur  to 
him,  when  he  shrank  from  asking  his  own  heart  which  ambition 
was  the  wiser. 

"And  then,"  continued  the  younger  brother,  "  by  degrees  1 
might  save  enough  to  purchase  such  a  vessel  as  that  which  we 
now  see,  laden,  doubtless,  with  corn  and  merchandise,  bringing, 
oh,  such  a  good  return  that  I  could  fill  your  room  with  books, 
and  never  hear  you  complain  that  you  were  not  rich  enough  to 
purchase  some  crumbling  old  monkish  manuscript.  Ah,  that 
would  make  me  so  happy !  "  Cola  smiled,  as  he  pressed  his 
brother  closer  to  his  breast. 

*'  Dear  boy,"  said  he,  "  may  it  rather  be  mine  to  provide  for 
your  wishes  !  Yet  methinks  the  masters  of  yon  vessel  ha\'e  no 
enviable  possession  ;  see  how  anxiously  the  men  look  round, 
and  behind,  and  before  :  peaceful  traders  though  they  be, 
they  fear,  it  seems,  even  in  this  city  (once  the  emporium  of  the 
civilized  world),  some  pirate  in  pursuit ;  and  ere  the  voyage  be 
over,  they  may  find  that  pirate  in  a  Roman  noble.  Alas,  to 
what  are  we  reduced !  " 

The  vessel  thus  referred  to  was  speeding  rapidly  down  the 
river,  and  some  three  or  four  armed  men  on  deck  were  indeed 
intently  surveying  the  quiet  banks  on  either  side,  as  if  antici- 
pating a  foe.  The  bark  soon,  however,  glided  out  of  sight,  and 
the  brothers  fell  back  upon  those  themes  which  require  onljf 
the  future  for  a  text  to  become  attractive  to  the  young. 


THE   LAST   OP   THE   TRIBUNES.  I7 

At  length,  as  the  evening  darkened,  they  remembered  that 
It  was  past  the  usual  hour  in  which  they  returned  home,  and 
they  began  to  retrace  their  steps. 

"  Stay,"  said  Cola  abruptly  ;  "  how  our  talk  has  beguiled  me ! 
Father  Uberto  promised  me  a  rare  manuscript,  which  the  good 
friar  confesses  hath  puzzled  the  whole  convent.  I  was  to  seek 
his  cell  for  it  this  evening.  Tarry  here  a  few  minutes,  it  is 
but  half-way  up  the  Aventine.     I  shall  soon  return." 

"Can  I  not  accompany  you  ?" 

**  Nay,"  returned  Cola,  with  considerate  kindness,  "  you  fiave 
borne  toil  all  the  day,  and  must  be  wearied  ;  my  labors,  of  the 
body,  at  least,  have  been  light  enough.  You  are  delicate,  too, 
and  seem  fatigued  already  ;  the  rest  will  refresh  you.  I  shall 
not  be  long." 

The  boy  acquiesced,  though  he  rather  wished  to  accompany 
his  brother  ;  but  he  was  of  a  meek  and  yielding  temper,  and 
seldom  resisted  the  lightest  command  of  those  he  loved.  He 
sat  Iwm  down  on  a  little  bank  by  the  river-side,  and  the  firm 
step  and  towering  form  of  his  brother  were  soon  hid  from  his 
gaze  by  the  thick  and  melancholy  foliage. 

At  first  he  sat  very  quietly,  enjoying  the  cool  air,  and  think- 
ing over  all  the  stories  of  ancient  Rome  that  his  brother  had 
told  him  in  their  walk.  At  length  he  recollected  that  his  lit- 
tle sister,  Irene,  had  begged  him  to  bring  her  home  some 
flowers  ;  and,  gathering  such  as  he  could  find  at  hand  (and 
many  a  flower  grew,  wild  and  clustering,  over  that  desolate  spot), 
he  again  seated  himself,  and  began  weaving  them  into  one  of 
those  garlands  for  which  the  southern  peasantry  still  retain 
their  ancient  affection,  and  something  of  their  classic  skill. 

While  the  boy  was  thus  engaged,  the  tramp  of   horses   and 
he  loud  shouting  of  the  men  were  heard  at  a  distance.     They 
tame  near,  and  nearer. 

"  Some  baron's  procession,  perhaps,  returning  from  a  feast," 
thought  the  boy.  "  It  will  be  a  pretty  sight — their  white 
plumes  and  scarlet  mantles  !  I  love  to  see  such  sights,  but  I 
will  just  move  out  of  their  way." 

So,  still  mechanically  platting  his  garland,  but  with  eyes 
turned  towards  the  quarter  of  the  expected  procession,  the 
young  Roman  moved  yet  nearer  towards  the  river. 

Presently  the  train  came  in  view, — a  gallant  company,  in 
truth  ;  horsemen  in  front,  riding  two  abreast,  where  the  path 
permitted,  their  steeds  caparisoned  superbly,  their  plumes 
waving  gaily,  and  the  gleam  of  their  corselets  glittering  through 
the  shades  of  the  dusky  twilight.     A  large  and  miscellaneous 


l8  RIENZI, 

crowd,  all  armed,  some  with  pikes  and  mail,  others  with  less 
warlike  or  worse  fasliioned  weapons,  followed  the  cavaliers; 
and  high  al)ove  phinie  and  pike  floated  the  blood-red  banner  of 
the  Oibini,  witli  tlie  motto  and  device  (in  which  was  ostenta- 
tiously disphiyed  the  Guclfic  badge  of  the  keys  of  St.  Peter) 
wrougiit  in  burnislied  gold.  A  momentary  fear  crossed  tlie 
boy's  mind,  for  at  that  time,  and  in  that  city,  a  nobleman 
DCgirt  with  his  swordsmen  was  more  dreaded  than  a  wild  beast 
ly  the  ]jlebeians  ;  but  it  was  already  too  late  to  fly — the  train 
ivere  upon  him. 

"Ho,  boy  !"  cried  the  leader  of  the  horsemen,  Martino 
di  Porto,  one  of  the  great  House  of  the  Orsini  ;  "  hast  thou 
seen  a  boat  pass  up  the  river?  But  thou  must  have  seen  it — 
how  long  since  ?" 

"  I  saw  a  large  boat  about  a  half  an  hour  ago,"  answered  the 
boy,  terrified  by  the  rough  voice  and  imperious  bearing  of  the 
cavalier. 

"  Sailing  right  ahead,  with  a  green  flag  at  the  stern?" 

"The  same,  noble  sir." 

"  On,  then  !  we  will  stop  her  course  ere  the  moon  rise," 
said  the  baron.  "  On  !  Let  the  boy  go  with  us,  lest  he  prove 
traitor,  and  alarm  the  Colonna."     * 

"  An  Orsini,  an  Orsini  ! "  shouted  the  multitude  ;  "on,  on  !  " 
and  despite  the  prayers  and  remonstrances  of  the  boy,  he  was 
placed  in  the  thickest  of  the  crowd,  and  borne,  or  rather 
dragged,  along  with  the  rest — frightened,  breathless,  almost 
weeping,  with  his  poor  little  garland  still  hanging  on  his  arm, 
while  a  sling  was  thrust  into  his  unw^illing  hand.  Still  he 
felt,  through  all  his  alarm,  a  kind  of  childish  curiosity  to  see  the 
result  of  the  pursuit. 

By  the  loud  and  eager  conversation  of  those  about  him,  he 
learned  that  the  vessel  he  had  seen  contained  a  supply  of  corn 
destined  to  a  fortress  up  the  river  held  by  the  Colonna,  then 
at  deadly  feud  with  the  Orsini  ;  and  it  was  the  object  of  the 
expedition  in  which  the  boy  had  been  thus  lucklessly 
entrained  to  intercept  the  provision,  and  divert  it  to  the  garri- 
son of  Martino  di  Porto.  This  news  somewhat  increased  his 
consternation,  for  the  boy  belonged  to  a  family  that  claimed 
the  patronage  of  the  Colonna. 

Anxiously  and  tearfully  he  looked  with  every  moment  up  the 
steep  ascent  of  the  Aventine  ;  but  his  guardian,  his  protector, 
still  delayed  his  appearance. 

They  had  now  proceeded  some  way,  when  a  winding  in  the 
road  suddenly  brought  before  them  the  object  of  their  pursuit. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  IQ 

as,  seen  by  the  light  of  the  earliest  stars,  it  scudded  rapidly 
down  the  stream. 

"  Now,  the  Saints  be  blessed  !"  quoth  the  chief  ;  "she  is  ours." 

"Hold  !"  said  a  captain  (a  German)  riding  next  to  Martino, 
in  a  half-whisper  ;  "  I  hear  sounds  which  I  like  not,  by  yonder 
trees — hark  !  the  neigh  of  a  horse !  By  my  faith,  too,  there  is 
the  gleam  of  a  corselet." 

"  Push  on,  my  masters,"  cried  Martino  ;  "  the  heron  shall 
not  balk  the  eagle — push  on  !  " 

With  renewed  shouts,  those  on  foot  pushed  forward,  till,  as 
they  had  nearly  gained  the  copse  referred  to  by  the  German,  a 
small,  compact  body  of  horsemen,  armed  cap-a-pie,  dashed 
from  amidst  the  trees,  and,  with  spears  in  their  rests,  charged 
into  the  ranks  of  the  pursuers. 

"  A  Colonna  !  a  Colonna  !  "  "  An  Orsini !  an  Orsini !  "  were 
shouts  loudly  and  fiercely  interchanged.  Martino  di  Porto,  a 
man  of  great  bulk  and  ferocity,  and  his  cavaliers,  who  were 
chiefly  German  mercenaries,  met  the  encounter  unshaken. 
"  Beware  the  bear's  hug,"  cried  the  Orsini,  as  down  went  his 
antagonist,  rider  and  steed,  before  his  lance. 

The  contest  was  short  and  fierce ;  the  complete  armor  of  the 
horsemen  protected  them  on  either  side  from  wounds ;  not  so 
unscathed  fared  the  half-armed  foot-followers  of  the  Orsini,  as 
they  pressed,  each  pushed  on  by  the  other,  against  the  Colonna. 
After  a  shower  of  stones  and  darts,  which  fell  but  as  hailstones 
against  the  thick  mail  of  the  horsemen,  they  closed  in,  and,  by 
their  number,  obstructed  the  movements  of  the  steeds,  while 
the  spear,  sword,  and  battle-axe  of  their  opponents  made  ruth- 
less havoc  among  their  undisciplined  ranks.  And  Martino^ 
who  cared  little  how  many  of  his  mere  mob  were  butchered, 
seeing  that  his  foes  were  for  the  moment  embarrassed  by  the 
wild  rush  and  gathering  circle  of  his  foot-train  (for  the  place 
of  conflict,  though  wider  than  the  previous  road,  was  confined 
and  narrow),  made  a  sign  to  some  of  his  horsemen,  and  was 
about  to  ride  forward  towards  the  boat,  now  nearly  out  of  sight, 
when  a  bugle  at  some  distance  was  answered  by  one  of  his 
enemy  at  hand;  and  the  shout  of  "Colonna  to  the  rescue!'* 
was  echoed  afar  off.  A  few  moments  brought  in  view  a 
numerous  train  of  horse  at  full  speed,  with  the  banners  of  the 
Colonna  waving  gallantly  in  the  front. 

"  A  plague  on  the  wizards  !  Who  would  have  imagined  they 
had  divined  us  so  craftily  ! "  muttered  Martino  ;  "we  must  not 
abide  these  odds";  and  the  hand  that  he  had  ^rst  raised  fo* 
Advance  now  gave  the  signal  ol  retreat. 


r.O  RTENZT, 

Serried  breast  to  breast  and  in  complete  order,  the  horsemen 
of  Martino  turned  to  fly;  the  foot  rabble  who  had  come  for  the 
spoil,  remained  but  for  slaughter.  They  endeavored  to  imitate 
their  leaders  ;  but  how  could  they  all  elude  the  rushing  charg- 
ers and  sharp  lances  of  their  antagonists,  whose  blood  was 
heated  by  the  affray,  and  who  regarded  the  lives  at  their  mercy 
as  a  boy  regards  the  wasp's  nest  he  destroys?  The  crowd  dis- 
persing in  all  directions, — some,  indeed,  escaped  up  the  hills, 
where  the  footing  was  impracticable  to  the  horses  ;  some  plunged 
into  the  river  and  swam  across  to  the  opposite  bank, — those 
less  cool  or  experienced,  who  fled  right  onwards,  served,  by 
clogging  the  way  of  the  enemy,  to  facilitate  the  flight  of  their 
leaders,  but  fell  themselves,  corpse  upon  corpse,  butchered  in 
the  unrelenting  and  unresisted  pursuit. 

*'  No  quarter  to  the  rufifians — every  Orsini  slain  is  a  robber 
the  less — strike  for  God,  the  Emperor,  and  the  Colonna ! " 
Such  were  the  shouts  which  rung  the  knell  of  the  dismayed 
and  falling  fugitives.  Among  those  who  fled  onward,  in  the 
very  path  most  accessible  to  the  cavalry,  was  the  young  brother 
of  Cola,  so  innocently  mixed  with  the  affray.  Fast  he  fled, 
dizzy  with  terror — poor  boy,  scarce  before  ever  parted  from 
his  parents'  or  his  brother's  side ! — the  trees  glided  past  him— • 
the  banks  receded  ;  on  he  sped,  and  fast  behind  came  the 
tramp  of  th?.  hoofs — the  shouts — the  curses — the  fierce 
laughter  of  the  foe,  as  they  bounded  over  the  dead  and 
dying  in  their  path.  He  was  now  at  the  spot  in  which  his 
brother  had  left  him  ;  hastily  he  glanced  behind  him,  and  saw 
the  couched  lance  and  horrent  crest  of  the  horseman  close  at 
his  rear  ;  despairingly  he  looked  up,  and,  behold  !  his  brother 
bursting  through  the  tangled  brakes  that  clothed  the  moun- 
tain, and  bounding  to  his  succor. 

"  Save  me  !  save  me,  brother!"  he  shrieked  aloud,  and  the 
shriek  reached  Cola's  ear.  The  snort  of  the  fiery  charger 
breathed  hot  upon  him  ;  a  moment  more,  and  with  one  wild, 
shrill  cry  of  "  Mercy,  mercy,"  he  fell  to  the  ground  —  a  corpse  ; 
the  iance  of  the  pursuer  passing  through  and  through  him,  from 
back  to  breast,  and  nailing  him  on  the  very  sod  where  he  had 
sate,  full  of  young  life  and  careless  hope,  not  an  hour  ago. 

The  horseman  plucked  forth  his  spear,  and  passed  on  in 
pursuit  of  new  victims  ;  his  comrades  following.  Cola  had  de- 
scended—was on  the  spot — kneeling  by  his  murdered  brother. 
Presently,  to  the  sound  of  horn  and  trumpet,  came  by  a  nobler 
company  than  most  of  those  hitherto  engaged  ;  who  had  been, 
;indt'cU«  but  the  advanced-guard  of  the   Colonna,     At   their 


THE    LAST    OF   THE    TRIBUNES.  21 

head  rode  a  man  in  years,  whose  long  white  hair  escaped  from 
his  plumed  cap  and  mingled  with  his  venerable  beard.  "How 
is  this?"  said  the  chief,  reigning  in  his  steed,  ''young 
Rienzi ! " 

The  youth  looked  up  as  he  heard  that  voice,  and  then  flung 
himself  before  the  steed  of  the  old  noble,  and,  clasping  liis 
hands,  cried  out  in  a  scarce  articulate  voice  :  "It  is  my  brother, 
noble  Stephen, — a  boy,  a  mere  child  ! — the  best — the  mildest  ! 
See  how  his  blood  dabbles  the  grass — back,  back — 3our 
horse's  hoofs  are  in  the  stream  !  Justice,  my  lord,  juslice  ! — 
you  are  a  great  man." 

"Who  slew  him?  an  Orsini,  doubtless;  you  shall  have  jus- 
tice." 

"  Thanks,  thanks,"  murmured  Rienzi,  as  he  tottered  once 
more  to  his  brother's  side,  turned  his  face  from  the  grass,  and 
strove  wildly  to  feel  the  pulse  of  his  heart  ;  he  drew  back  his 
hand  hastily,  for  it  was  crimsoned  with  blood,  and  lifting  that 
hand  on  high,  shrieked  out  again,  "Justice  !  justice  !  " 

The  group  round  the  old  Stephen  Colonna,  hardened  as  they 
were  in  such  scenes,  were  affected  by  the  sight.  A  handsome 
boy,  whose  tears  ran  fast  down  his  checks,  and  who  rode  his 
palfrey  close  by  the  side  of  the  Colonna,  drew  forth  his  sword. 
"  My  lord,"  said  he,  half  sobbing,  "an  Orsini  only  could  have 
butchered  a  harmless  lad  like  this ;  let  us  lose  not  a  moment, 
let  us  on  after  the  ruffians." 

"  No,  Adrian,  no  ! "  cried  Stephen,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
boy's  shoulder ;  your  zeal  is  to  be  lauded,  but  we  must  beware 
an  ambush.  Our  men  have  ventured  too  far.  What,  ho, 
there  !   sound  a  return." 

The  bugles  in  a  few  minutes  brought  back  the  pursuers, — 
among  them,  the  horseman  whose  spear  had  been  so  fatally 
misused.     He  was  the  leader  of  those  engaged  in  the  conflict 
with  Martino  di  Porto  ;  and  the  gold  wrought  into  his  armor 
with  the  gorgeous  trappings  of  his  charger,  betokened  his  rank. 

"Thanks,  my  son,  thanks,"  said  the  old  Colonna  to  this 
cavalier,  "you  have  done  well  and  bravely.  But  tell  me, 
knowest  thou,  for  thou  hast  an  eagle  eye,  which  of  the  Orsini 
slew  this  poor  boy  ? — a  foul  deed  ;  his  family,  too,  our 
clients  ! " 

"Who?  yon  lad  ?  "  replied  the  horseman, lifting  the  helmet 
from  his  head, and  wiping  his  heated  brow  ;  "say  you  so  !  how 
came  he,  then,  with  Martino's  rascals  ?  1  fear  me  the  mistake 
hath  cost  him  dear.  I  could  but  suppose  him  of  the  Orsini 
rabble,  and  so — and  so — " 


22  RIENZIj 

*'  You  slew  him  ! "  cried  Rienzi,  in  a  voice  of  thunder, 
starting  from  the  ground.  "  Justice  !  then,  my  Lord  Stephen, 
justice  !  you  promised  nie  justice,  and  I  will  have  it  !" 

"  My  poor  youth,"  said  the  old  man  compassionately,  "you 
should  have  had  justice  against  the  Orsini  ;  but  see  you  not 
this  has  been  an  error  ?  I  do  not  wonder  you  are  too  grieved 
to  listen  to  reason  now>     We  must  make  this  up  to  you." 

"  And  let  this  pay  for  masses  for  the  boy's  soul  ;  I  grieve  me 
much  for  the  accident,"  said  the  younger  Colonna,  flinging 
down  a  purse  of  gold.  **  Ay,  see  us  at  the  palace  next  week, 
young  Cola — next  week.  My  father,  we  had  best  return  to- 
wards the  boat  ;  its  safeguard  may  require  us  yet." 

"  Right,  Gianni  ;  stay,  some  two  of  you,  and  see  to  the  poor 
lad's  corpse  ; — a  grievous  accident !  how  could  it  chance  ?  " 

The  company  passed  back  the  way  they  came,  two  of  the 
common  soldiers  alone  remaining,  except  the  boy  Adrian,  who 
lingered  behind  a  few  moments,  striving  to  console  Rienzi,  who, 
as  one  bereft  of  sense,  remained  motionless,  gazing  on  the 
proud  array  as  it  swept  along,  and  muttered  to  himself,  *'  Jus- 
tice, justice  !  I  will  have  it  yet." 

The  loud  voice  of  the  elder  Colonna  summoned  Adrian,  re- 
luctantly and  weeping,  away.  "  Let  me  be  your  brother,"  said 
the  gallant  boy,  affectionately  pressing  the  scholar's  hand  to 
his  heart ;  "I  want  a  brother  like  you." 

Rienzi  made  no  reply  ;  he  did  not  heed  or  hear  him  ;  dark 
and  stern  thoughts — thoughts  in  which  were  the  germ  of  a 
mighty  revolution — were  at  his  heart.  He  woke  from  them 
with  a  start,  as  the  soldiers  were  now  arranging  their  bucklers 
so  as  to  make  a  kind  of  bier  for  the  corpse,  and  then  burst  into 
tears  as  he  fiercely  motioned  them  away,  and  clasped  the  clay 
to  his  breast  till  he  was  literally  soaked  with  the  oozing 
blood. 

The  poor  child's  garland  had  not  dropped  from  his  arm 
even  when  he  fell,  and,  entangled  by  his  dress,  it  still  clung 
around  him.  It  was  a  sight  that  recalled  to  Cola  all  the 
gentleness,  the  kind  heart,  and  winning  graces  of  his  only 
brother — his  only  friend  !  It  was  a  sight  that  seemed  to  make 
yet  more  inhuman  the  untimely  and  unmerited  fate  of  that  in- 
nocent boy.  "  My  brother  !  my  brother  !  "  groaned  the  sur- 
vivor ;  how  shall  I  meet  our  mother  ?  How  shall  I  meet  even 
night  and  solitude  again  ? — so  young,  so  harmless  !  See  ye, 
sirs,  he  was  but  too  gentle.  And  they  will  not  give  us  justice 
because  his  murderer  was  a  noble  and  a  Colonna.  And  this 
gold,  too — gold  for  a  brother's  blood  !     Will  they  not —  "  and 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  23 

the  young  man's  eyes  glared  like  fire — "will  they  not  give  us 
justice?  Time  shall  show!"  So  saying,  he  bent  his  head 
over  the  corpse  ;  his  lips  muttered,  as  with  some  prayer  or  in- 
vocation ;  and  then  rising,  his  face  was  as  pale  as  the  dead 
beside  him,  but  it  was  no  longer  pale  with  grief  ! 

From  that  bloody  clay  and  that  mward  prayer,  Cola  di 
Rienzi  rose  a  new  being.  With  his  young  brother  died  his  own 
youth.  But  for  that  event,  the  future  liberator  of  Rome  might 
have  been  but  a  dreamer,  a  scholar,  a  poet  ;  the  peaceful  rival 
of  Petrarch  ;  a  man  of  thoughts,  not  deeds.  But  from  that 
time,  all  his  faculties,  energies,  fancies,  genius,  became  con- 
centrated into  a  single  point ;  and  patriotism,  before  a  vision, 
leapt  into  the  life  and  vigor  of  a  passion,  lastingly  kindled, 
stubbornly  hardened,  and  awfully  consecrated, — by  revenge  ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

AN  HISTORICAL  SURVEY — NOT  TO  BE   PASSED  OVER,  EXCEPT   BY 
THOSE  WHO  DISLIKE  TO  UNDERSTAND  WHAT  THEY  READ. 

Years  had  passed  away,  and  the  death  of  the  Roman  boy, 
amidst  more  noble  and  less  excusable  slaughter,  was  soon  for- 
gotten,— forgotten  almost  by  the  parents  of  the  slain,  in  the 
growing  fame  and  fortunes  of  their  eldest  son, — forgotten  and 
forgiven  never  by  that  son  himself.  But,  between  that  pro- 
logue of  blood,  and  the  political  drama  which  ensues, — 
between  the  fading  interest,  as  it  were,  of  a  dream,  and  the 
more  busy,  actual,  and  continuous  excitements  of  sterner 
life, — this  may  be  the  most  fitting  time  to  place  before  the 
reader  a  short  and  rapid  outline  of  the  state  and  circumstances 
of  that  city  in  which  the  principal  scenes  of  this  story  are  laid  : 
an  outline  necessary,  perhaps,  to  many,  for  a  full  comprehen- 
sion of  the  motives  of  the  actors,  and  the  vicissitudes  of  the  plot. 

Despite  the  miscellaneous  and  mongrel  tribes  that  had 
forced  their  settlements  in  the  City  of  the  Caesars,  the  Roman 
population  retained  an  inordinate  notion  of  their  own  supre- 
macy over  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  and  degenerated  from  the 
iron  virtues  of  the  Republic,  possessed  all  the  insolent  and  un- 
ruly turbulence  which  characterized  the  Plebs  of  the  ancient 
Forum.  Amongst  a  ferocious,  yet  not  a  brave,  populace,  the 
nobles  supported  themselves  less  as  sagacious  tyrants  than  as 
relentless  banditti.  The  popes  had  struggled  in  vain  against 
these  stubborn   and   stern   patricians.     Their   state  deri4e<3* 


24  RIENZT, 

their  command  defied,  their  persons  publicly  outraged,  the 
pontiff-sovereigns  of  the  rest  of  Europe  resided,  at  the 
Vatican,  as  prisoners  under  terror  of  execution.  When, 
tliirty  eight  years  before  the  date  of  the  events  we  are  about 
to  witness,  a  Frenchman,  under  the  name  of  Clement  V.,  had 
ascended  the  chair  of  St.  Peter,  the  new  pope,  with  more  pru- 
dence than  valor,  had  deserted  Rome  for  the  tranquil  retreat 
of  Avignon  ;  and  the  luxurious  town  of  a  foreign  province  be- 
came the  court  of  the  Roman  pontiff,  and  the  throne  of  the 
Cliristian  Church. 

Thus  deprived  of  even  the  nominal  check  of  the  papal  pres- 
ence, the  power  of  the  nobles  might  be  said  to  have  no  limits, 
save  their  own  caprice,  or  their  mutual  jealousies  and  feuds. 
Though  arrogating  through  fabulous  genealogies  their  descent 
from  the  ancient  Romans,  they  were,  in  reality,  for  the  most 
part,  the  sons  of  the  bolder  barbarians  of  the  North  ;  and, 
contaminated  by  the  craft  of  Italy,  rather  than  imbued  with 
its  national  affections,  they  retained  the  disdain  of  their  foreign 
ancestors  for  a  conquered  soil  and  a  degenerate  people.  While 
the  rest  of  Italy,  especially  in  Florence,  in  Venice,  and  in 
Milan,  was  fast  and  far  advancing  beyond  the  other  states  of 
Europe  in  civilization  and  in  art,  the  Romans  appeared  rather 
to  recede  than  to  improve ;  unblest  by  laws,  unvisited  by  art, 
strangers  at  once  to  the  chivalry  of  a  warlike,  and  the  graces 
of  a  peaceful,  people.  But  they  still  possessed  the  sense  and 
desire  of  liberty,  and,  by  ferocious  paroxysms  and  desperate 
struggles,  sought  to  vindicate  for  their  city  the  title  it  still 
assumed  of  "  the  Metropolis  of  the  World."  For  the  last  two 
centuries  they  had  known  various  revolutions, — brief,  often 
bloody,  and  always  unsuccessful.  Still,  there  was  the  empty 
pageant  of  a  popular  form  of  government.  The  thirteen  quar- 
ters of  the  city  named  each  a  chief ;  and  the  assembly  of  these 
magistrates,  called  Caporioni,  by  theory  possessed  an  authority 
they  had  neither  the  power  nor  the  courage  to  exert.  Still 
there  was  the  proud  name  of  Senator  ;  but,  at  the  present  time, 
the  office  was  confined  to  one  or  to  two  persons,  sometimes 
elected  by  the  pope,  sometimes  by  the  nobles.  The  authority 
attached  to  the  name  seems  to  have  had  no  definite  limit ;  it 
'/as  that  of  a  stern  dictator,  or  an  indolent  puppet,  according 
as  he  who  held  it  had  the  power  to  enforce  the  dignity  h§ 
assumed.  It  was  never  conceded  but  to  nobles,  and  it  was  by 
the  nobles  that  all  th<^  '"iitr:ii^es  were  committed.  Private 
enmity  ^vlcr:;  ".^a.i>  gratified  whenever  public  justice  was  invoked  : 
iitid  the  vindication  of  order  was  but  the  ex«cution  of  revenge. 


THE    LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNESo  25 

Holding  their  palaces  as  the  castles  and  fortresses  of  princes, 
each  asserting  his  own  independency  of  all  authority  and  law, 
and  planting  fortifications,  and  claiming  principalities  in  the 
patrimonial  territories  of  the  Church,  the  barons  of  Rome 
made  their  state  still  more  secure,  and  still  more  odious,  by 
the  maintenance  of  troops  of  foreign  (chiefly  of  German) 
mercenaries,  at  once  braver  in  disposition,  more  disciplined  in 
service,  and  more  skilful  in  arms,  than  even  the  freest  Italians 
of  that  time.  Thus  they  united  the  judicial  and  the  military 
force,  not  for  the  protection,  but  for  the  ruin  of  Rome.  Of 
these  barons,  the  most  powerful  were  the  Orsini  and  Colonna ; 
their  feuds  were  hereditary  and  incessant,  and  every  day  wit- 
nessed the  fruits  of  their  lawless  warfare,  in  bloodshed,  in 
rape,  and  in  conflagration.  The  flattery  or  the  friendship  of 
Petrarch,  too  credulously  believed  by  modern  historians,  has 
invested  the  Colonna,  especially  of  the  date  now  entered  upon, 
with  r.n  elegance  and  a  dignity  not  their  own.  Outrage,  fraud, 
and  assassination,  a  sordid  avarice  in  securing  lucrative  offices 
to  themselves,  an  insolent  oppression  of  their  citizens,  and  the 
most  dastardly  cringing  to  power  superior  to  their  own  (with 
but  few  exceptions),  mark  the  character  of  the  first  family  of 
Rome.  But,  wealthier  than  the  rest  of  the  barons,  they  were, 
therefore,  more  luxurious,  and,  perhaps,  more  intellectual  ;  and 
their  pride  was  flattered  in  being  patrons  of  those  arts  of  which 
they  could  never  have  become  the  professors.  From  these 
multiplied  oppressors  the  Roman  citizens  turned  with  fond  and 
impatient  regret  to  their  ignorant  and  dark  notions  of  departed 
liberty  and  greatness.  They  confounded  the  times  of  the 
Empire  with  those  of  the  Republic  ;  and  often  looked  to  the 
Teutonic  king,  who  obtained  his  election  from  beyond  the 
Alps,  but  his  title  of  emperor  from  the  Romans,  as  the  deserter 
of  his  legitimate  trust  and  proper  home  ;  vainly  imagining  that, 
if  both  the  Emperor  and  the  Pontiff  fixed  their  residence  in 
Rome,  Liberty  and  Law  would  again  seek  their  natural  shelter 
beneath  the  resuscitated  majesty  of  the  Roman  people. 

The  absence  of  the  pope  and  the  papal  court  served  greatly 
to  impoverish  the  citizens ;  and  they  had  suffered  yet  more 
visibly  by  the  depredations  of  hordes  of  robbers,  numerous 
and  unsparing,  who  invested  Romagna,  obstructing  all  the  pub- 
lic ways,  and  were,  sometimes  secretly,  sometimes  openly,  pro- 
tected by  the  barons,  who  often  recruited  their  banditti  garri- 
sons by  banditti  soldiers. 

But  besides  the  lesser  and  ignobler  robbers,  there  had  risen 
in  Italy  a  far  more  formidable  description  of  freebooters.     A 


26  RIENZI, 

German,  who  assumed  the  lofty  title  of  the  Duke  Werner,  had, 
a    few   years  prior   to   the  period   we  approach,  enlisted  and 
organized  a  considerable  force,  styled  "  The  Great  Company," 
with  which  he  besieged  cities  and  invaded  states,  without   any 
object   less  shameless  than  that  of  pillage.      His  example  was 
soon   imitated:  numerous  "Companies,"  similarly  constituted, 
devastated  the  distracted  and  divided   land.     They  appeared, 
suddenly  raised,  as  if  by  magic,  before  the  walls  of  a  city,  and 
demanded  immense  sums  as   the  purchase  of  peace.     Neither 
tyrant  nor  commonwealth  maintained  a  force  sufficient  to  resist 
them  ;  and    if  other   northern    mercenaries    were   engaged  to 
oppose  them,  it  was  only  to  recruit  the  standards  of  the  free- 
booters with  deserters.     Mercenary  fought  not  mercenary,  nor 
German,  German  :  and  greater  pay,  and  more  unbridled  rapine, 
made  the  tents  of  the  "Companies"  far  more  attractive  than 
the  regulated  stipends  of  a  city,  or  the  dull  fortress  and  impov- 
erished coffers  of  a  chief.     Werner,  the  most  implacable  and 
ferocious   of  all  these  adventurers,  and   who  had   so   openly 
gloried  in  his  enormities  as  to  wear  upon   his  breast   a  silver 
plate,  engraved  with  the  words,  "  Enemy  to  God,  to  Pity,  and 
to  Mercy,"  had  not  long  since  ravaged  Romagna  with  fire  and 
sword.     But,  whether  induced  by  money,  or  unable  to  control 
the  fierce  spirits  he  had  raised,  he  afterwards   led  the  bulk  of 
his  company  back  to  Germany.     Small  detachments,  however, 
remained,  scattered  throughout  the  land,  waiting  only  an  able 
leader  once  more  to  reunite  them  ;  amongst  those  who  appeared 
most  fitted  for  that  destiny  was  Walter  de  Montreal,  a   Knight 
of  St.  John,  and  gentleman  of  Provence,  whose  valor  and  mili- 
tary genius  had  already,  though  yet  young,  raised  his  name  into 
dreaded  celebrity  ;  and  whose  ambition,  experience,  and  sagac- 
ity, relieved   by   certain    chivalric    and    noble  qualities,  were 
suited  to  enterprises  far  greater  and  more   important  than  the 
violent    depredations    of  the    atrocious  Werner.     From   these 
scourges  no  state   had  suffered   more   grievously  than  Rome. 
The  patrimonial  territories  of  the  pope — in  part  wrested   from 
him  by  petty  tyrants,  in  part  laid  waste  by  these  foreign  rob- 
bers— yielded  but  a  scanty  supply  to  the  necessities  of  Clement 
VI.,  the  most  accomplished  gentleman  and  the  most  graceful 
voluptuary  of  his  time ;  and  the   good   father  had  devised  a 
plan,  whereby  to  enrich  at  once  the  Romans  and  their  pontiff. 
Nearly  fifty  years  before  the   time  we   enter   upon,  in  order 
both    to  rei)lenish   the   papal    coffers   and  ])acify  the   starving 
Romans,  Boniface  Vlll.  had  instituted  the  Festival  of  the  Ju- 
bilee, or  Holy  Year  j  in  fact,  a  revival  of  a  Pagan  ceremoniaL 


THE  LAST   OF  THE   TRIBUNES.  2^ 

A  plenary  indulgence  was  promised  to  every  Catholic  who,  in 
that  year,  and  in  the  first  year  of  every  succeeding  century, 
should  visit  the  churches  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul.  An  im- 
mense concourse  of  pilgrims,  from  every  part  of  Christendom, 
had  attested  the  wisdom  of  the  invention  ;  "  and  two  priests 
stood  night  and  day,  with  rakes  in  their  hands,  to  collect  with- 
out counting  the  heaps  of  gold  and  silver  that  were  poured  on 
the  altar  of  St.  Paul."* 

It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  this  most  lucrative  festival 
should,  ere  this  next  century  was  half  expired,  appear  to  a  dis- 
creet pontiff  to  be  too  long  postponed.  And  both  pope  and 
city  agreed  in  thinking  it  might  well  bear  a  less  distant 
renewal.  Accordingly,  Clement  VI.  had  proclaimed,  under  the 
name  of  the  Mosaic  Jubilee,  a  second  Holy  Year  for  1350,  viz., 
three  years  distant  from  that  date  at  which,  in  the  next  chapter^ 
my  narrative  will  commence.  This  circumstance  had  a  -^rcr-t 
effect  in  whetting  the  popular  indignation  against  the  barons, 
and  preparing  the  events  I  slvdU  relate  ;  for  the  roads  were,  as 
I  before  said,  infested  by  the  banditti,  the  creatures  and  allies 
of  the  barons.  And  if  the  roads  were  not  cleared,  the  pilgrims 
might  not  attend.  It  was  the  object  of  the  pope's  vicar, 
Raimond,  bishop  of  Orvietto  (bad  politician  and  good 
canonist),  to  seek,  by  every  means,  to  remove  all  impediment 
between  the  offerings  of  devotion  and  the  treasury  of  St. 
Peter. 

Such,  in  brief,  was  the  state  of  Rome  at  the  period  we  are 
about  to  examine.  Her  ancient  mantle  of  renown  still,  in  the 
eyes  of  Italy  and  of  Europe,  cloaked  her  ruins.  In  name,  at 
least,  she  was  still  the  queen  of  the  earth  ;  and  from  her  hands 
came  the  crown  of  the  emperor  of  the  north,  and  the  keys  of 
ihe  father  of  the  church.  Her  situation  was  precisely  that 
which  presented  a  vast  and  glittering  triumph  to  bold  ambition, 
an  inspiring,  if  mournful,  spectacle  to  determined  patriotism, 
and  a  fitting  stage  for  that  more  august  tragedy  which  seeks  it* 
incidents,  selects  its  actors,  and  shapes  its  moral,  amidst  the 
vicissitudes  and  crimes  of  nations. 

*  Gibbon,  voL  xii,  c.  59. 


tS  RIENZ!, 

CHAPTER  III. 

THE    BRAWL. 

On  an  evening  in  April,  1347,  and  in  one  of  those  wide 
spaces  in  which  Modern  and  Ancient  Rome  seemed  blent 
together, — equally  desolate  and  equally  in  ruins, — a  miscel- 
laneous and  mdignant  populace  were  assembled.  That  morn- 
ing the  house  of  a  Roman  jeweller  had  been  forcibly  entered 
and  pillaged  by  the  soldiers  of  Martino  di  Porto,  with  a  daring 
effrontery  which  surpassed  even  the  ordinary  license  of  the 
barons.  The  sympathy  and  sensation  throughout  the  city 
were  deep  and  ominous. 

"  Never  will  I  submit  to  this  tyranny !" 

**Nor  I!" 

"  Nor  I !  " 

"Nor,  by  the  bones  of  St.  Peter,  will  I ! 

"And  what,  my  friends,  is  this  tyranny  to  which  you  will  not 
submit  ?"  said  a  young  nobleman,  addressing  himself  to  the 
crowd  of  citizens,  who,  heated,  angry,  half-armed,  and  with 
the  vehement  gestures  of  Italian  passion,  were  now  sweeping 
down  the  long  and  narrow  street  that  led  to  the  gloomy  quarter 
occupied  by  the  Orsini. 

"  Ah,  my  lord ! "  cried  two  or  three  of  the  citizens  in  a 
breath,  "  you  will  right  us  ;  you  will  see  justice  done  to  us  ; 
you  are  a  Colonna." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha ! "  laughed  scornfully  one  man  of  gigantic 
frame,  and  wielding  on  high  a  huge  hammer,  indicative  of  his 
trade.  "  Justice  and  Colonna  !  body  of  God  I  those  names  are 
not  often  found  together." 

"  Down  with  him !  down  with  him  !  he  is  an  Orsinist,  down 
with  him  !  "  cried  at  least  ten  of  the  throng :  but  no  hand  was 
raised  against  the  giant. 

"He  speaks  the  truth,"  said  a  second  voice  firmly. 

"  Ay,  that  doth  he,"  said  a  third,  knitting  his  brows,  and 
unsheathing  his  knife,  "and  we  will  abide  by  it.  The  Orsini 
are  tyrants,  and  the  Colonnas  are,  at  the  best,  as  bad." 

"Thou  best  in  thy  teeth,  ruffian  !"  cried  the  young  noble, 
advancing  into  the  press  and  confronting  the  last  asperser  of 
the  Colonna. 

Before  tke  flashing  eye  and  menacing  gesture  of  the  cavalier, 
the  worthy  brawler  retreated  some  steps,  so  as  to  leave  an  open 
space  between  the  towering  form  of  the  smith  and  the  small, 
slender,  but  vigorous  frame  of  the  young  noble. 


THE   LACT   C?   TIT":   TRIBUNES.  2g 

Taught  from  their  birth  to  despise  the  coiirar;o  of  the 
plebeians,  even  while  careless  of  much  reputation  as  to  their 
own,  the  patricians  of  Rome  were  not  unaccustomed  to  the 
rude  fellowship  of  these  brawls  ;  nor  was  it  unoften  that  the 
mere  presence  of  a  noble  sufficed  to  scatter  whole  crowds,  that 
had  the  moment  before  been  breathing  vengeance  against  his 
order  and  his  house. 

Waving  his  hand,  therefore,  to  the  smith,  and  utterly  un- 
needing  either  his  brandished  weapon  or  his  vast  stature,  the 
youiig  Adrian  di  Castello,  a  distant  kinsman  of  the  Colonna, 
haughtily  bade  him  give  way. 

"  To  your  homes,  friends!  and  know,"  he  added,  with  some 
dignity,  "  that  ye  wrong  us  much,  if  ye  imagine  we  share  the 
evil-doings  of  the  Orsini,  or  are  pandering  solely  to  our  own 
passions  in  the  feud  between  their  house  and  ours.  May  the 
Holy  Mother  so  judge  me,"  continued  he,  devoutly  lifting  up 
his  eyes,  "as  I  now  with  truth  declare,  that  it  is  for  your 
wrongs,  and  for  the  wrongs  of  Rome,  that  I  have  drawn  this 
sword  against  the  Orsini." 

"So  say  all  the  tyrants,"  rejoined  the  smith  hardily,  as  he 
leant  his  hammer  against  a  fragment  of  stone — some  remnant 
of  ancient  Rome — "they  never  fight  against  each  other,  but  it 
is  for  our  good.  One  Colonna  cuts  me  the  throat  of  Orsini's 
baker — it  is  for  our  good  !  another  Colonna  seizes  on  the 
daughter  of  Orsini's  tailor — it  is  for  our  good  !  our  good — yes, 
for  the  good  of  the  people !  The  good  of  the  bakers  and 
tailors,  eh  .?" 

"Fellow,"  said  the  young  nobleman  gravely,  "if  a  Colonna 
did  thus,  he  did  wrong ;  but  the  holiest  cause  may  have  bad 
supporters." 

"  Yes,  the  holy  Church  itself  is  propped  on  very  indifferent 
rolumns,"  answered  the  smith,  in  a  rude  witticism  on  the 
affection  of  the  pope  for  the  Colonna. 

"  He  blasphemes  !  the  smith  blasphemes  !  "  cried  the  parti- 
sans of  that  powerful  house.     "  A  Colonna,  a  Colonna  ! " 

"  An  Orsini,  an  Orsini  !"  was  no  less  promptly  the  counter  cry. 

"  The  People  !  "  shouted  the  smith,  waving  his  formidable 
weapon  far  above  the  heads  of  the  group. 

In  an  instant  the  whole  throng,  who  had  at  first  united 
against  the  aggression  of  f)ne  man,  were  divided  by  the  heredi- 
tary wrath  ot  faction.  At  the  cry  of  Orsini,  several  new  parti- 
sans h\».rried  to  the  spot ;  the  friends  of  the  Colonna  drew 
themselves  on  one  side,  the  defenders  of  the  Orsini  on  the  other ; 
aiSM^  the  few  who  agreed  with  (he  smith  that  both  factions  wer^ 


3©  RIENZI, 

equally  odious  and  the  people  was  the  sole  legitimate  cry  in  a 
popular  commotion,  would  have  withdrawn  themselves  from 
the  approaching  me/ee,  if  the  smith  himself,  who  was  looked 
upon  by  them  as  an  authority  of  great  influence,  had  not — 
whether  from  resentment  at  the  haughty  bearing  of  the  young 
Colonna,  or  from  that  appetite  of  contest  not  uncommon  in 
men  of  4  bulk  and  force  which  assure  them  m  all  personal 
affravs  the  lofty  pleasure  of  superiority — if.  1  say.  the  smith 
himself  had  not,  after  a  pause  of  indecision,  retired  among  the 
Orsini,  and  entrained,  by  his  example,  the  allia*^^ce  of  his 
friends  with  the  favorers  of  that  faction. 

In  popular  commotions,  each  man  is  whirled  alon^  with  the 
herd,  often  half  against  his  own  approbation  or  assent.  'Jhe 
few  words  of  peace  by  which  Adrian  di  Castello  commenced  an 
address  to  his  friends  were  drowned  amidst  their  shouts.  Proud 
to  find  in  their  ranks  one  of  the  most  beloved,  and  one  of  the 
noblest  of  that  name,  the  partisans  of  the  Colonna  placed  him 
in  their  front,  and  charged  impetuously  on  their  foes.  Adrian, 
however,  who  had  acquired  from  circumstances  something  of 
that  chivalrous  code  which  he  certainly  could  not  have  owed  tc> 
his  Roman  birth,  disdained  at  first  to  assault  men,  among  wliom 
he  recognized  no  equal,  either  in  rank  or  the  practice  of  arms. 
He  contented  himself  with  putting  aside  the  few  strokes  that 
were  aimed  at  him  in  the  gathering  confusion  of  the  conflict — 
few,  for  those  who  recognized  him,  even  amidst  the  bitterest 
partisans  of  the  Orsini,  were  not  willing  to  expose  themselves 
to  the  danger  and  odium  of  spilling  the  blood  of  a  man  who,  in 
addition  to  his  great  birth  and  the  terrible  power  of  his  connec- 
tions,  was  possessed  of  a  personal  popularity  \vhich  he  owed 
rather  to  a  comparison  with  the  vices  of  his  relatives  than  to 
any  remarkable  virtues  hitherto  displayed  by  himself.  The 
smith  alone,  who  had  as  yet  taken  no  active  pan  in  the  fray, 
seemed  to  gather  himself  up  in  determined  opposition  as  the 
cavalier  now  advanced  within  a  few  steps  of  him. 

"  Did  we  not  tell  thee,"  quoth  the  giant,  frowning,  "that  the 
Colonna  were,  not  less  than  the  Orsini,  the  foes  of  the  people? 
Look  at  thy  followers  and  clients  :  are  they  not  cutting  the 
throats  of  humble  men  by  way  of  vengeance  for  the  crime  of  a 
great  one  ?  But  that  is  the  way  one  patrician  always  scourges 
the  insolence  of  another.  He  lays  the  rod  on  the  backs  of  the 
people,  and  then  cries,  *See  how  just  I  am  ! '" 

"  I  do  not  answer  thee  now,"  answered  Adrian  ;  "but  if  thou 
regrettest  with  me  t\m  waste  of  blood,  join  with  me  in  attempt* 


THE   LAST   OF   TH£   TRIBUNES.  Jt 

**I — not  1 1  Let  the  blood  of  the  slaves  flow  to-day  •.  the  time 
is  fast  coming  when  it  shall  be  washed  away  by  the  blood  of  the 
lords." 

*' Away,  ruffian  !  "  said  Adrian,  seeking  no  farther  parley,  and 
touching  the  smith  with  the  flat  side  of  his  sword.  In  an  in- 
stant the  hammer  of  the  smith  swung  in  the  air,  and,  but  for 
the  active  spring  of  the  young  noble,  would  infallibly  have 
crushed  him  to  the  earth.  Ere  the  smith  could  gain  time  for  a 
second  blow,  Adrian's  sword  passed  twice  through  his  right 
arm,  and  the  weapon  fell  heavily  to  the  ground. 

"Slay  him,  slay  him  !  "  cried  several  of  the  clients  of  the  Co' 
lonna,  now  pressing,  dastard-like,  round  the  disarmed  and  dis- 
abled smith. 

"Ay,  slay  him  !'*  said,  in  tolerable  Italian,  but  with  a  bar- 
barous accentj  one  man,  half-clad  in  armor,  who  had  but  just 
joined  the  group,  and  who  was  one  of  those  wild  German  ban- 
dits whom  the  Colonna  held  in  their  pay  ;  "  he  belongs  to  a  hor- 
rible gang  of  miscreants  sworn  against  all  order  and  peace.  He 
is  one  of  Rienzi's  followers,  and,  bless  the  Three  Kings  !  raves 
about  the  People." 

"  Thou  sayest  right,  barbarian,"  said  the  sturdy  smith,  in  a 
loud  voice,  and  tearing  aside  the  vest  from  his  breast  with  his 
left  hand  ;  "come  all — Colonna  and  Orsini — dig  to  this  heart 
with  your  sharp  blades,  and  when  you  have  reached  the  centre, 
you  will  find  there  the  object  of  your  common  hatred,  '  Rienzi 
and  the  People  !  " 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  in  language  that  would  have 
seemed  above  his  station  (if  a  certain  glow  and  exaggeration  of 
phrase  and  sentiment  were  not  common,  when  excited,  to  all 
the  Romans),  the  loudness  of  his  voice  rose  above  the  noise 
immediately  round  him,  and  stilled,  for  an  instant,  the  general 
din;  and  when  at  last  the  words,  "Rienzi  and  the  People" 
rang  forth,  they  penetrated  midway  through  the  increasing 
crowd,  and  were  answered,  as  by  an  echo,  with  a  hundred  voices, 
"Rienzi  and  the  People  !" 

But  whatever  impression  the  words  of  the  mechanic  made  on 
others,  it  was  equally  visible  in  the  young  Colonna.  At  the 
name  of  Rienzi  the  glow  of  excitement  vanished  from  his  cheek; 
he  started  back,  muttered  to  himself,  and  for  a  moment  seemed, 
even  in  the  midst  of  that  stirring  commotion,  to  be  lost  in  a 
moody  and  distant  revery.  He  recovered,  as  the  shout  died 
away  ;  and  saying  to  the  smith,  in  a  low  tone,  "Friend,  I  am 
sorry  for  thy  wound  ;  but  seek  me  on  the  morrow,  and  thou 
shalt  find  thou  hast  wronged  me";     he  beckoned  to  the  Ger- 


$2  RIEN2I, 

man  to  follow  him,  and  threaded  his  way  through  the  crowd, 
which  generally  gave  back  as  he  advanced.  For  the  bitterest 
hatred  to  the  order  of  the  nobles  was  at  that  time  in  Home 
mingled  with  a  servile  respect  for  their  persons,  and  a  myste- 
rious awe  of  their  uncontrollable  power. 

As  Adrian  passed  through  that  part  of  the  crowd  in  which 
the  fray  had  not  yet  commenced,  the  murmurs  that  followed 
him  were  not  those  which  many  of  his  race  could  have  heard. 

"A  Colonna,"  said  one. 

"  Yet  no  ravisher,"  said  another,  laughing  wildly. 

"Nor  murtherer,"  muttered  a  third,  pressing  his  hand  to  his 
breast.  "'Tis  not  against  /itm  that  my  father's  blood  cries 
aloud." 

"Bless  him,"  said  a  fourth,  **for  as  yet  no  man  curses 
him  !  '* 

"  Ah,  God  help  us  ! "  said  an  old  man,  with  a  long  gray  beard, 
leaning  on  his  staff:  "the  serpent's  young  yet;  the  fangs  will 
show  by  and  by." 

**  For  shame,  father !  he  is  a  comely  youth,  and  not  proud  in 
the  least.  What  a  smile  he  hath  !  "  quoth  a  fair  matron,  who 
kept  on  the  outskirts  of  the  7nelee. 

"  Farewell  to  a  man's  honor  when  a  noble  smiles  on  his  wife  !  '* 
Was  the  answer. 

"Nay,"  said  Luigi,  a  jolly  butcher,  with  a  roguish  eye,  "what 
a  man  can  win  fairly  from  maid  or  wife,  that  let  him  do,  whether 
plebeian  or  noble  ;  that's  my  morality ;  but  when  an  ugly  old 
patrician  finds  fair  words  will  not  win  fair  looks,  and  carries 
me  off  a  dame  on  the  back  of  a  German  boar,  with  a  stab  in  the 
side  for  comfort  to  the  spouse,  then,  I  say,  he  is  a  wicked  man 
and  an  adulterer." 

While  such  were  the  comments  and  the  murmurs  that  fol- 
lowed the  noble,  very  different  v/cre  the  looks  and  words  that 
attended  the  German  soldier. 

Equally,  nay,  with  even  greater  promptitude,  did  the  crowd 
make  way  at  his  armed  and  heavy  tread  ;  but  not  with  looks  of 
reverence  :  the  eye  glared  as  he  approached,  but  the  cheek 
grew  pale,  the  head  bowed,  the  lip  quivered  ;  each  man  felt  a 
shudder  of  hate  and  fear,  as  recognizing  a  dread  and  mortal 
foe.  And  well  and  wrathfully  did  the  fierce  mercenary  note 
the  sigt;s  of  the  general  aversion.  He  pushed  on  rudely,  half- 
smiling  in  contempt,  half-frowning  in  revenge,  as  he  looked  from 
side  to  side;  and  his  long,  matted,  light  hair,  tawny-colored 
mustache,  and  brawny  front,  contrasted  strongly  with  the  darls 
eyes,  raven  locks,  and  slender  frames  of  the  Italians. 


tHE   LAST   OP   THE   TRIBUNES,,  J^ 

"May  Lucifer  double  damn  those  German  cut-throats!" 
muttered,  between  his  teeth,  one  of  the  citizens. 

*'  Amen  !  "  answered,  heartily,  another. 

"  Hush  ! "  said  a  third,  timorously  looking  round  ;  "if  one  of 
them  hear  thee,  thou  art  a  lost  man." 

"Oh,  Rome  !  Rome  !  to  what  art  thou  fallen  !"  said  bitterly 
one  citizen,  clothed  in  black,  and  of  a  higher  seeming  than  the 
rest ;  "  when  thou  shudderest  in  thy  streets  at  the  tread  of  a 
hired  barbarian  !  " 

"  Hark  to  one  of  our  learned  men,  and  rich  citizens  ! "  said 
the  butcher  reverently. 

"  'Tis  a  friend  of  Rienzi's,"  quoth  another  of  the  group,  lift- 
ing his  cap. 

With  downcast  eyes,  and  a  face  in  which  grief,  shame,  and 
wrath  were  visibly  expressed,  Pandulfo  di  Guido,  a  citizen  of 
birth  and  repute,  swept  slowly  through  the  crowd,  and  disap- 
peared. 

Meanwhile,  Adrian,  having  gained  a  street  which,  though  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  crowd,  was  empty  and  desolate,  turned 
to  his  fierce  comrade.  "  Rodolph  !  "  said  he,  "  mark  !  no  vio- 
lence to  the  citizens.  Return  to  the  crowd,  collect  the  friends 
of  our  house,  withdraw  them  from  the  scene ;  let  not  the 
Colonna  be  blamed  for  this  day's  violence  ;  and  assure  our 
followers,  in  my  name,  that  I  swear,  by  the  knighthood  I  re- 
ceived at  the  Emperor's  hands,  that  by  my  sword  shall  Martino 
di  Porto  be  punished  for  his  outrage.  Fain  would  I,  in  per- 
son, allay  the  tumult,  but  my  presence  only  seems  to  sanction 
it.     Go — thou  hast  weight  with  them  all." 

**  Ay,  Signor,  the  weight  of  blows  !  "  answered  the  grim  sol- 
dier. "  But  the  command  is  hard  ;  I  would  fain  let  their  pud- 
dle-blood flow  an  hour  or  two  longer.  Yet,  pardon  me  ;  in 
obeying  thy  orders,  do  I  obey  those  of  my  master,  thy  kinsman  ? 
It  is  old  Stephen  Colonna,  who  seldom  spares  blood  or  treas- 
ure, God  bless  him  (save  his  own  I )  whose  mon^y  I  hold,  and 
to  whose  bests  I  am  sworn." 

"  Diavolo  !  "  muttered  the  cavalier,  and  the  a:^2;ry  spot  was 
on  his  cheek  ;  but,  with  the  habitual  self-control  ot  the  Italian 
nobles,  he  smothered  his  rising  choler,  and  said  aloud,  with 
calmness,  but  dignity  : 

"  Do  as  I  bid  thee  ;  check  this  tumult ;  make  us  the  forbear^ 
ing  party.  Let  all  be  still  within  one  hour  hence,  and  call  on  vat 
to-morrow  for  thy  reward  ;  be  this  purse  an  earnest  of  my  fu- 
ture thanks.  As  for  my  kinsman,  whom  I  command  thee  to 
name  more   reverentlv.  'tis  in  his  name  I  speak  ;  Hark  !  the 


34  ftifiK^r, 

din  increases — the  contest  swells  !     Go — lose  not  another  mo« 
ment." 

Somewhat  awed  by  the  quiet  firmness  of  the  patrician, 
Rodolf  nodded,  without  answer,  slid  the  money  into  his  bosom, 
and  stalked  away  into  the  thickest  of  the  throng.  But,  even 
ere  he  arrived,  a  sudden  reaction  had  taken  place. 

The  young  cavalier,  left  alone,  in  that  spot,  followed  with  his 
eyes  the  receding  form  of  the  mercenary,  as  the  sun,  now  set- 
ting, shone  slant  upon  his  glittering  casque,  and  said  bitterly 
to  himself  :  "  Unfortunate  city,  fountain  of  all  mighty  mem- 
ories, fallen  queen  of  a  thousand  nations,  how  art  thou  de- 
crowned and  spoiled  by  thy  recreant  and  apostate  children  ,' 
Thy  nobles  divided  against  themselves  ;  thy  people  cursing  thy 
nobles  ;  thy  priests,  who  should  sow  peace,  planting  discord  ; 
the  father  of  thy  church  deserting  thy  stately  walls,  his  home  a 
refuge,  his  mitre  a  fief,  his  court  a  Gallic  village  ;  and  we  ! — 
we,  of  the  haughtiest  blood  of  Rome — we,  the  sons  of  Caesars, 
and  of  the  lineage  of  demigods,  guarding  an  insolent  and  ab- 
horred state  by  the  swords  of  hirelings,  who  mock  our  coward- 
ice while  they  receive  our  pay  ;  who  keep  our  citizens  slaves, 
and  lord  it  over  their  very  masters  in  return  !  Oh,  that  we,  the 
hereditary  chiefs  of  Rome,  could  but  feel — oh,  that  we  could 
but  find,  our  only  legitimate  safeguard,  in  the  grateful  hearts  of 
our  countrymen  !  " 

So  deeply  did  the  young  Adrian  feel  the  galling  truth  of  all 
he  uttered,  that  the  indignant  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks  as 
he  spoke.  He  felt  no  shame  as  he  dashed  them  away  ;  for  that 
weakness  which  weeps  for  a  fallen  race  is  the  tenderness,  not 
of  women  but  of  angels. 

As  he  turned  slowly  to  quit  the  spot,  his  steps  were  suddenly 
arrested  by  a  loud  shout :  "  Rienzi !  Rienzi ! "  smote  the  air. 
From  the  walls  of  the  Capitol  to' the  bed  of  the  glittering 
Tiber,  that  name  echoed  far  and  wide  ;  and,  as  the  shout  died 
away,  it  was  swallowed  up  in  a  silence  so  profound,  so  univer- 
sal, so  breathless,  that  you  might  have  imagined  that  death  it- 
self had  fallen  over  the  city.  And  now,  at  the  extreme  end  of 
the  crowd,  and  eltvated  above  their  level,  on  vast  fragments  of 
stone  which  had  been  dragged  from  the  ruins  of  Rome  in  one 
of  the  late  frequent  tumults  between  contending  factions,  to 
serve  as  a  barricade  for  citizens  against  citizens, — on  these 
silent  memorials  of  the  past  grandeur,  the  present  misery,  of 
Rome, — stood  that  extraordinary  man,  who,  above  all  his  race, 
was  the  most  penetrated  with  the  glories  of  the  one  time,  with 
the  degradation  of  the  other. 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  JfJ 

From  the  distance  at  which  he  stood  from  the  scene,  Adrian 
tr)\ild  only  distinguish  the  dark  outline  of  Rienzi's  form  ;  he 
could  only  b.ear  the  faint  sound  of  his  mighty  voice  ;  he  could 
only  perceive,  in  the  subdued  yet  waving  sea  of  human  beings 
lihat  spread  around,  their  heads  bared  in  the  last  rays  of  the 
sun,  the  unutterable  effect  which  an  eloquence  described  by 
contemporaries  almost  as  miraculous, — but  in  reality  less  so 
Torn  the  genius  of  the  man  than  the  sympathy  of  the  audience, — 
created  in  all  who  drank  into  their  hearts  and  souls  the 
stream  of  its  burning  thoughts. 

It  was  but  fo?  a  short  time  that  that  form  was  visible  to  the 
earnest  eye,  that  that  voice  at  intervals  reached  the  straining 
ear,  of  Adrian  di  Castello  ;  but  that  time  sufficed  to  produce 
all  the  effect  which  Adrian  himself  had  desired. 

Another  shout,  more  earnest,  more  prolonged  than  the  first — 
a  shout  in  which  spoke  the  release  of  swelling  thoughts,  of 
intense  excitement — betokened  the  close  of  the  harangue  ;  and 
then  you  might  see,  after  a  minute's  pause,  the  crowd  breaking 
in  all  directions  and  pouring  down  the  avenues  in  various 
knots  and  groups,  each  testifying  the  strong  and  lasting  im- 
pression made  upon  the  multitude  by  that  address.  Every 
cheek  was  flushed,  every  tongue  spoke  ;  the  animation  of  the 
orator  had  passed,  like  a  living  spirit,  into  the  breasts  of  the 
audience.  He  had  thundered  against  the  disorders  of  the  pa- 
tricians, yet,  by  a  word,  he  had  disarmed  the  anger  of  the 
plebeians  ;  he  had  preached  freedom,  yet  he  had  opposed 
license.  He  had  calmed  the  present,  by  a  promise  of  the  fu- 
ture. He  had  chid  their  quarrels,  yet  had  supported  their 
cause.  He  had  mastered  the  revenge  of  to-day,  by  a  solemn 
assurance  that  there  should  come  justice  for  the  morrow.  So 
great  may  be  the  power,  so  mighty  the  eloquence,  so  formidable 
the  genius,  of  one  man, — without  arms,  without  rank,  without 
!word,  or  ermine,  who  addresses  himself  to  a  people  that  is  oi> 
pressed ! 


CHAPTER   IV. 

AN    ADVENTURE, 

Avoiding  the  broken  streams  of  the  dispersed  crowd,  Adrian 
Colonna  strode  rapidly  down  one  of  the  narrow  streets  leading 
to  his  palace,  which  was  situated  at  no  inconsiderable  distance 
from  the  place  in  which  the  late  contest  had  occurred.  The 
education  of  bis  life  made  him  feel  a  profound  interest,  not 


^6  RIENZI, 

only  in  the  divisions  and  disputes  of  his  country,  but  also  in  the 
scene  he  had  just  witnessed,  and  the  authority  exercised  by 
Rienzi. 

An  orphan  of  a  younger,  but  opulent  branch  of  the  Colonna, 
Adrian  had  been  brought  up  under  the  care  and  guardianship 
of  his  kinsman,  that  astute,  yet  valiant,  Stephen  Colonna,  who, 
of  all  the  nobles  of  Rome,  was  the  most  powerful,  alike  from  the 
favor  of  the  pope,  and  the  number  of  'armed  hirelings  whom  his 
wealth  enabled  him  to  maintain,  Adrian  had  early  manifested 
what  in  that  age  was  considered  an  extraordinary  disposition 
towards  intellectual  pursuits,  and  had  acquired  much  of  the 
little  that  was  then  known  of  the  ancient  language  and  the 
ancient  history  of  his  country. 

Though  Adrian  was  but  a  boy  at  the  time  in  which,  first 
presented  to  the  reader,  he  witnessed  the  emotions  of  Rienzi  at 
the  death  of  his  brother,  his  kind  heart  had  been  penetrated  with 
sympathy  for  Cola's  affliction,  and  shame  for  the  apathy  of  his 
kinsmen  at  the  result  of  their  own  feuds.  He  had  earnestly 
sought  the  friendship  of  Rienzi,  and,  despite  his  years,  had  be- 
come aware  of  the  power  and  energy  of  his  character.  But 
though  Rienzi,  after  a  short  time,  had  appeared  to  think  no 
more  of  his  brother's  death — though  he  again  entered  the  halls 
of  the  Colonna,  and  shared  their  disdainful  hospitalities,  he 
maintained  a  certain  distance  and  reserve  of  manner,  which 
even  Adrian  could  only  partially  overcome.  He  rejected  every 
offer  of  service,  favor,  or  promotion  ;  and  any  unwonted  proof 
of  kindness  from  Adrian  seemed,  instead  of  making  him  more 
familiar,  to  offend  him  into  colder  distance.  The  easy  humor 
and  conversational  vivacity  which  had  first  rendered  him  a  wel- 
come guest  with  those  who  passed  their  lives  between  fighting 
nnd  feasting,  had  changed  into  a  vein  ironical,  cynical,  and 
severe.  But  the  dull  barons  were  equally  amused  at  his  wit, 
and  Adrian  was  almost  the  only  one  who  detected  the  serpent 
couched  beneath  the  smile. 

Often  Rienzi  sat  at  the  feast,  silent,  but  observant,  as  if  watch. 
ing  every  look,  weighing  every  word,  taking  gauge  and  measure- 
ment of  the  intellect,  policy,  temperam^jnt,  of  every  guest ;  and 
when  he  had  seemed  to  satisfy  himself,  his  spirits  would  rise, 
his  words  flow,  and  while  his  dazzling  but  bitter  wit  lit  up  the 
revel,  none  saw  that  the  unmirthful  flash  was  the  token  of  the 
coming  storm.  But  all  the  while  he  neglected  no  occasion  to 
mix  with  the  humbler  citizens,  to  stir  up  their  minds,  to 
inflame  their  imaginations,  to  kindle  their  emulation,  with  pic- 
tures Qi  t'Ae  present  an^  with  legenrls  of  the  past.     He  |;rew  ia 


THE  LAST   OF   THE    rUlBUNES.  37 

popularity  and  repute,  and  was  yet  more  in  power  with  the 
herd,  because  in  favor  with  the  nobles.  Perhaps  it  was  for  that 
reason  that  he  had  continued  the  guest  of  the  Colonna. 

When,  six  years  before  the  present  date,  the  Capitol  of  the  Cae- 
sars witnessed  the  triumph  of  Petrarch,  the  scholastic  fame  of  the 
young  Rienzi  had  attracted  the  friendship  of  the  poet — a  friend- 
ship that  continued,  with  slight  interruption,  to  the  last,  through 
careers  so  widely  different ;  and  afterwards,  one  among  the  Roman 
Deputies  to  Avignon,  he  had  been  conjoined  with  Petrarch*  to 
supplicate  Clement  VI.  to  remove  the  Holy  See  from  Avignon  to 
Rome.  It  was  in  this  mission  that,  for  the  first  time,  he  evinced  his 
extraordinary  powers  of  eloquence  and  persuasion.  The  pontiff, 
indeed,  more  desirous  of  ease  than  glory,  was  not  convinced  by 
the  arguments,  but  he  was  enchanted  with  the  pleader;  and  Ri- 
enzi returned  to  Rome  loaded  with  honors,  and  clothed  with  the 
dignity  of  high  and  responsible  office.  No  longer  the  inactive 
scholar,  the  gay  companion,  he  rose  at  once  to  pre-eminence 
above  all  his  fellow-citizens.  Never  before  had  authority  been 
borne  with  so  austere  an  integrity,  so  uncorrupt  a  zeal.  He 
had  sought  to  impregnate  his  colleagues  with  the  same  loftiness 
of  principle  ;  he  had  failed.  Now  secure  in  his  footing,  he  hiid 
begun  openly  to  appeal  to  the  people  ;  and  already  a  new  spirit 
seemed  to  animate  the  populace  of  Rome. 

While  these  were  the  fortunes  of  Rienzi,  Adrian  had  been 
long  separated  from  him,  and  absent  from  Rome. 

The  Colonna  were  staunch  supporters  of  the  imperial  party, 
and  Adrian  di  Castello  had  received  and  obeyed  an  invitation 
to  the  Emperor's  court.  Under  that  monarch  he  had  initiated 
himself  in  arms,  and  among  the  knights  of  Germany  he  had 
learned  to  temper  the  natural  Italian  shrewdness  with  the  chivalry 
of  northern  valor. 

In  leaving  Bavaria  he  had  sojourned  a  short  time  in  the  soli- 
tude of  one  of  his  estates  by  the  fairest  lake  of  northern  Italy  ; 
and  thence,  with  a  mind  improved  alike  by  action  and  study, 
jiad  visited  many  of  the  free  Italian  states,  imbibed  sentiments 
less  prejudiced  than  those  of  his  order,  and  acquired  an 
early  reputation  for  himself  while  inly  marking  the  char- 
acters and  deeds  of  others.  In  him  the  best  qualities  of  the 
Italian  noble  wer«  united.  Passionately  addicted  to  the  cultiva- 
tion of  letter's,  subtle  and  profound  in  policy,  gentle  and  bland  of 
manner,  dignifying  a  love  of  pleasure  with  a  certain  elevation 
of  taste,  he  yet  possessed  a  gallantry  of  conduct,  and  purity  of 

*  According  to  the  modem  historians:  but  it  seems  more  probable  that  Rienzi's  mission 
to  Avignon  wis  posterior  to  that  of  Petrarch.  However  this  be,  it  was  at  Avignon  thai 
Petrarch  and  Rienzi  became  most  intimate,  as  Petrarch  himself  observes  in  one  of  his  letters^ 


3S  RIENZI, 

honor,  and  an  aversion  from  cruelty,  which  were  then  very  rarely 
found  in  the  Italian  temperament,  and  which  even  the  Chivalry 
of  the  North,  while  maintaining  among  themselves,  usually 
abandoned  the  moment  they  came  into  contact  with  the 
systematic  craft  and  disdain  of  honesty  which  made  the  char- 
acter of  the  ferocious,  yet  wily,  South.  With  these  qualities  he 
combined,  indeed,  the  softer  passions  of  his  countrymen  ;  he 
adored  Beauty  and  he  made  a  deity  of  Love. 

He  had  but  a  few  weeks  returned  to  his  native  city,  whither 
his  reputation  had  already  preceded  him,  and  where  his  early 
affection  for  letters  and  gentleness  of  bearing  were  still  remem- 
bered. He  returned  to  find  the  position  of  Rienzi  far  more 
altered  than  his  own.  Adrian  had  not  yet  sought  the  scholar. 
He  wished  first  to  judge  with  his  own  eyes,  and  at  a  distance,  of 
the  motives  and  object  of  his  conduct  ;  for  partly  he  caught 
the  suspicions  which  his  own  order  entertained  of  Rienzi,  and 
pr.rtly  he  shared  in  the  trustful  enthusiasm  of  the  people. 

**  Certainly,"  said  he  now  to  himself,  as  he  walked  musingly  on- 
ward, "  certainly,  no  man  has  it  more  in  his  power  to  reform 
our  diseased  state,  to  heal  our  divisions,  to  awaken  our  citizens 
to  the  recollections  of  ancestral  virtue.  But  that  very  power, 
how  dangerous  is  it !  Have  I  not  seen,  in  the  free  states  of 
Italy,  men  called  into  authority  for  the  sake  of  preserving  the 
people,  honest  themselves  at  first,  and  then,  drunk  with  the 
sudden  rank,  betraying  the  very  cause  which  had  exalted  them  ? 
True,  those  men  were  chiefs  and  nobles  ;  but  are  plebeians  less 
human  ?  Howbeit  I  have  heard  and  seen  enough  from  afar ; 
I  will  now  approach  and  examine  the  man  himself." 

While  thus  soliloquizing,  Adrian  but  little  noted  the  various 
passengers,  who,  more  and  more  rarely  as  the  evening  waned, 
hastened  homeward.  Among  these  were  two  females,  who  now 
alone  shared  with  Adrian  the  long  and  gloomy  street  into  which 
he  had  entered.  The  moon  was  already  bright  in  the  heavens, 
and  as  the  women  passed  the  cavalier  with  a  light  and  quick 
step,  the  younger  one  turned  back  and  regarded  him  by  the 
clear  light  with  an  eager  yet  timid  glance. 

"  Why  dost  thou  tremble,  my  pretty  one?"  said  her  com- 
panion, who  might  have  told  some  five-and-forty  years,  and 
whose  garb  and  voice  bespoke  her  of  inferior  rank  to  the 
younger  female.  "  The  streets  seem  quiet  enough  now,  and, 
the  Virgin  be  praised  !  we  are  not  so  far  from  home  either." 

"Oh  !  Benedetta,  it  is  he !  it  is  the  young  signor  !  it  is 
Adrian  ! " 

"That  is  fortunate,"  said  the  nurse,  for  such  was  her  condi* 


THE  LAST  or  tHE  TRIBUNES.  39 

tion,  "since  they  say  he  is  as  bold  as  a  Northman,  and  as  the 
Palazzo  Colonna  is  not  very  far  hence,  we  shall  be  within  reach 
of  his  aid  should  we  want  it ;  that  is  to  say,  sweet  one,  if  you 
will  walk  a  little  slower  than  you  have  yet  done." 

The  young  lady  slackened  her  pace,  and  sighed. 

*' He  is  certainly  very  handsome,"  quoth  the  nurse;  "but 
thou  must  not  think  more  of  him  ;  he  is  too  far  above  thee  for 
marriage,  and  for  aught  else  thou  art  too  honest,  and  thy 
brother  too  proud^-" 

"And  thou,  Benedetta,  art  too  quick  with  thy  tongue.  How 
canst  thou  talk  thus,  when  thou  knowest  he  hath  never,  since 
at  least  I  was  a  mere  child,  even  addressed  me  ;  nay,  he  scarce 
knows  of  my  very  existence.  He,  the  Lord  Adrian  di  Castello, 
dream  of  poor  Irene  !  the  mere  thought  is  madness  !  " 

"Then  why,"  said  the  nurse  briskly,  "dost  thou  dream  of 
him  ?  " 

Her  companion  sighed  again,  more  deeply  than  at  first. 

"  Holy  St.  Catharine  !"  continued  Benedetta,  "if  there  were 
but  one  man  in  the  world,  I  would  die  single  ere  I  would  think 
of  him,  until,  at  least,  he  had  kissed  my  hand  twice,  and  left  it 
my  own  fault  if  it  were  not  my  lips  instead." 

The  young  lady  still  replied  not. 

"  But  how  didst  thou  contrive  to  love  him  ? "  asked  the 
nurse.  "  Thou  canst  not  have  seen  him  very  often  ;  it  is  but 
some  four  or  five  weeks  since  his  return  to  Rome." 

"  Oh,  how  dull  thou  art  !"  answered  the  fair  Irene.  "Have  I 
not  told  thee  again  and  again  that  I  lov^d  him  six  years  ago  ?" 

"  When  thou  hadst  told  but  thy  tenth  year,  and  a  doll  would 
have  been  thy  most  suitable  lover !  As  I  am  a  Christian,  Sig- 
nora,  thou  hast  made  good  use  of  thy  time." 

"And  during  his  absence,"  continued  the  girl  fondly,  yet 
sadly,  "did  I  not  hear  him  spoken  of,and  was  not  the  mere  sound 
of  his  name  like  a  love-gift  that  bade  me  remember  ?  And 
when  they  praised  him,  have  I  not  rejoiced?  and  when  they 
blamed  him,  have  I  not  resented  ?  and  when  they  said  that  his 
lance  was  victorious  in  the  tourney,  did  I  not  weep  with  pride  ? 
and  when  they  whispered  that  his  vows  were  welcome  in  the 
bower,  wept  I  not  as  fervently  with  grief  }  Have  not  the  six 
years  of  his  absence  been  a  dream,  and  was  not  his  return  a 
waking  into  light — a  morning  of  glory  and  the  sun?  And  I 
see  him  now  in  the  church,  when  he  wots  not  of  me  :  and  on 
his  happy  steed  as  he  passes  by  my  lattice  :  and  is  not  that 
enouL^h  of  hay)piness  for  love?" 

"But  if  he  loves  not  thee  V 


40  RiENZtj 

'■^  Fool,  I  ask  not  that  ;  nay,  I  know  not  if  I  wish  it.  Per 
haps  I  would  rather  dream  of  him,  such  as  I  would  have  him, 
than  know  him  for  what  he  is.  He  might  be  unkind,  or  un- 
generous, or  love  me  but  little  ;  rather  would  I  not  be  loved  at 
•ill,  than  loved  coldly,  and  eat  away  my  heart  by  comparing  it 
with  his.  I  can  love  him  now  as  something  abstract,  unreal, 
and  divine  ;  but  what  would  be  my  shame,  my  grief,  if  I  were 
to  find  him  less  than  I  have  imagined  I  Then,  indeed,  my  life 
would  have  been  wasted  ;  then,  indeed,  the  beauty  of  the  eartb 
would  be  gone  !  " 

The  good  nurse  was  not  very  capable  of  sympathizing  wita 
sentiments  like  these.  Even  had  their  characters  been  more 
alike,  their  disparity  of  age  would  have  rendered  such  sym- 
pathy impossible.  What  but  youth  can  echo  back  the  soul  of 
youth — all  the  music  of  its  vild  vanities  and  romantic  follies? 
The  good  nurse  did  not  sympathize  with  the  sentiments  of 
her  young  lady,  but  she  sympathized  with  the  deep  earnestness 
with  which  they  were  expressed.  She  thought  it  wondrous  silly, 
but  wondrous  moving ;  she  wiped  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of 
her  veil,  and  hoped  in  her  secret  heart  that  her  young  charge 
would  soon  get  a  real  husband  to  put  such  unsubstantial  fanta- 
sies out  of  her  head.  There  was  a  short  pause  in  their  conver- 
sation, when,  just  where  two  streets  crossed  one  another,  there 
was  a  loud  noise  of  laughing  voices  and  trampling  feet. 
Torches  were  seen  on  high,  affronting  the  pale  light  of  the 
moon  ;  and,  at  a  very  short  distance  from  the  two  females,  in 
the  cross  street,  advanced  a  company  of  seven  or  eight  men, 
bearing,  as  seen  by  the  red  light  of  the  torches,  the  formidable 
badge  of  the  Orsini. 

Amidst  the  other  disorders  of  the  time,  it  was  no  unfrequent 
custom  for  the  younger  or  more  dissolute  of  the  nobles,  in 
small  and  armed  companies,  to  parade  the  streets  at  night, 
seeking  occasion  for  a  licentious  gallantry  among  the  cowering 
citizens,  or  a  skirmish  at  arms  with  some  rival  stragglers  of 
their  own  order.  Such  a  band  had  Irene  and  her  companion 
now  chanced  to  encounter. 

"  Holy  mother  ! "  cried  Benedetta,  turning  pale,  and  half 
running,  "what  curse  has  befallen  us?  How  could  we  have 
been  so  foolish  us  to  tarry  so  late  at  the  lady  Nina's?  Run, 
Signora,  run,  or  we  shall  fall  into  their  hands  !" 

But  the  advice  of  Benedetta  came  too  late;  the  fluttering 
garments  of  the  women  had  been  already  descried  :  in  a  mo- 
ment more  they  were  surrounded  by  the  marauders.  A  rude 
|iand  tore  aside  Benedetta's  veil,  and  at  sieht  of  features  which 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  4t 

if  time  had  not  spared,  it  could  never  very  materially  injure,  the 
rough  aggressor  cast  the  poor  nurse  against  the  wall  with  i 
curse,  which  was  echoed  by  a  loud  laugh  from  his  comrades. 

"  Thou  hast  a  fine  fortune  in  faces,  Giuseppe  !" 

"Yes  ;  it  was  but  the  other  day  that  he  seized  on  a  girl  of 
sixty." 

"And  then,  by  way  of  improving  her  beauty,  cut  her  across 
the  face  with  his  dagger,  because  she  was  not  sixteen  !" 

"  Hush,  fellows  !  whom  have  we  here  ?  "  said  the  chief  of  the 
party,  a  man  richly  dressed,  and  who,  though  bordering  upoi: 
middle  age,  had  only  the  more  accustomed  himself  to  the  ex- 
cesses of  youth  ;  as  he  spoke,  he  snatched  the  trembling  Irene 
from  the  grasp  of  his  followers.  "  Ho,  there  I  the  torches  ' 
O^y  che  bella  faccia  !  what  blushes  \  what  eyes  ! — nay,  look  not 
down,  pretty  one  ;  thou  needst  not  be  ashamed  to  win  the  love 
of  an  Orsini — yes  ;  know  the  triumph  thou  hast  achieved  :  it  is 
Martino  di  Porto  who  bids  thee  smile  upon  him  ! " 

"For  the  blest  Mother's  sake,  release  me!  Nay,  sir,  this 
must  not  be  ;  I  am  not  unfriended  ;  this  insult  shall  not  pass  !  '* 

"  Hark  to  her  silver  chiding  ;  it  is  better  than  my  best  hound's 
bay!  This  adventure  is  worth  a  month's  watching.  What! 
will  you  not  come  ? — restive— shrieks  too!  Francesco,  Pieiro, 
ye  are  the  gentlest  of  the  band.  Wrap  her  veil  around  her, — 
muffle  this  music — so  !  bear  her  before  me  to  the  palace,  and 
to-morrow,  sweet  one,  thou  shalt  go  home  with  a  basket  of 
fiorins  which  thou  mayest  say  thou  hast  bought  at  market." 

But  Irene's  shrieks,  Irene's  struggles,  had  already  brought 
succor  to  her  side,  and,  as  Adrian  approached  the  spot,  the 
nurse  flung  herself  on  her  knees  before  him. 

"  Oh,  sweet  signor,  for  Christ's  grace  save  us !  deliver  my 
young  mistress — her  friends  love  you  well !  We  are  all  for  the 
Colonna !  Save  the  kin  of  your  own  clients,  gracious 
signor !  " 

"  It  is  enough  that  she  is  a  woman,"  answered  Adrian,  adding, 
between  his  teeth,  "and  that  an  Orsini  is  her  assailant."  He 
strode  haughtily  into  the  thickest  of  the  group ;  the  servitors 
laid  hands  on  their  swords,  but  gave  way  before  him  as  they 
recognized  his  person  ;  he  reached  the  two  men  who  had  al- 
ready seized  Irene  ;  in  one  moment  he  struck  the  foremost  to 
the  ground,  in  another  he  had  passed  his  left  arm  round  the 
light  and  slender  form  of  the  maiden,  and  stood  confronting  the 
Orsini  with  his  drawn  blade,  which,  however,  he  pointed  to  the 
ground. 

"  For  shame,  my  lord,  for  shame !  "  said  he  indignantly. 


42  RIENZI, 

'*Will  you  force  Rome  to  rise,  to  a  man,  against  our  order? 
Vex  not  too  far  the  lion,  chained  though  he  be  ;  war  against «j 
if  ye  will !  draw  your  blades  upon  men,  though  they  be  of  your 
own  race,  and  speak  your  own  tongue  :  but  if  ye  would  sleep 
at  nights,  and  not  dread  the  avenger's  gripe  ;  if  ye  would  walk 
the  market-place  secure,  wrong  not  a  Roman  woman  !  Yes, 
the  very  walls  around  us  preach  to  you  the  punishment  of  such 
a  deed  .  for  that  offence  fell  the  Tarquins  ;  for  that  offence 
were  swept  away  the  Decemvirs ;  for  that  offence,  if  ye  rush 
upon  it,  the  blood  of  your  whole  house  may  flow  like  water. 
Cease,  then,  my  lord,  from  this  mad  attempt,  so  unworthy  your 
great  name;  cease,  and  thank  even  a  Colonna  that  he  has  come 
between  you  and  a  moment's  frenzy  !  " 

So  noble,  so  lofty  were  the  air  and  gesture  of  Adrian,  as  he 
thus  spoke,  that  even  the  rude  servitors  felt  a  thrill  of  appro- 
bation and  remorse — not  so  Martino  di  Porto.  He  had  been 
struck  with  the  beauty  of  the  prey  thus  suddenly  snatched  from 
him  ;  he  had  been  accustomed  to  long  outrage  and  to  long  im- 
punity ;  the  very  sight,  the  very  voice  of  a  Colonna,  was  a 
blight  to  his  eye  and  a  discord  to  his  ear ;  what,  then,  when  a 
Colonna  interfered  with  his  lusts  and  rebuked  his  vices? 

"  Pedant !"  he  cried,  with  quivering  lips,  "  prate  not  to  me 
of  thy  vain  legends  and  gossip's  tales !  think  not  to  snatch 
from  me  my  possession  in  another,  when  thine  own  life  is  in 
my  hands.  Unhand  the  maiden  !  throw  down  thy  sword  !  re- 
turn home  without  further  parley,  or,  by  my  faith,  and  the  blades 
of  my  followers  (look  at  them  well  !)  thou  diest !  " 

"  Signor,"  said  Adrian  calmly,  yet  while  he  spoke  he  re- 
treated gradually  with  his  fair  burthen  towards  the  neighboring 
wall,  so  as  at  least  to  leave  only  his  front  exposed  to  those 
fearful  odds,  "  thou  wilt  not  so  misuse  the  present  chances, 
and  wrong  thyself  in  men's  mouths,  as  to  attack  with  eight 
swords  even  thy  hereditary  foe,  thus  cumbered,  too,  as  he  is. 
But — nay  hold  ! — if  thou  art  so  proposed,  bethink  thee  well, 
one  cry  of  my  voice  would  soon  turn  the  odds  against  thee. 
Thou  art  now  in  the  quarter  of  my  tribe  ;  thou  art  surrounded 
by  the  habitations  of  the  Colonna  :  yon  palace  swarms  with 
men  who  sleep  not,  save  with  harness  on  their  backs  ;  men 
whom  my  voice  can  reach  even  now,  but  from  whom,  if  they 
once  taste  of  blood,  it  could  not  save  thee  !  " 

"  He  speaks  true,  noble  lord,"  said  one  of  the  band  :  "  we 
have  wandered  too  far  out  of  our  beat  ;  we  are  in  their  very 
den  ;  the  palace  of  old  Stephen  Colonna  is  within  call ;  and,  to 
my  knowledge,"  added  he^  in  a  whisper^  "  eigliteen  fresh  men« 


^  THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  43 


Of-arms — ay,  and  Northmen  too — marched  through  its  gates 
this  day." 

"Were  there  eight  hundred  men  at  arm's  length,"  answered 
Martino  furiously,  "  I  would  not  be  thus  bearded  amidst  mine 
own  train  !  Away  with  yon  woman  !  To  the  attack  !  to  the 
attack  1  " 

Thus  saying,  he  made  a  desperate  lunge  at  Adrian,  who,  hav= 

_  ing  kept  his  eye  cautiously  on  the  movements  of  his  eneny, 

was  not  unprepared  for  the  assault.     As  he  put  aside  the  blade 

with  his  own,  he  shouted  with  a  loud  voice,    *'Colonna!  to  the 

rescue,  Colonna !  " 

Nor  had  it  been  without  an  ulterior  object  that  the  acute  and 
self-controlling  mind  of  Adrian  had  hitherto  sought  to  prolong 
the  parley.  Even  as  he  first  addressed  Orsini,  he  had  per- 
ceived, by  the  moonlight,  the  glitter  of  armor  upon  two  men 
advancing  from  the  far  end  of  the  street,  and  judged  at  once, 
by  the  neighborhood,  that  they  must  be  among  the  mercenaries 
of  the  Colonna. 

Gently  he  suffered  the  form  of  Irene,  which  now,  for  she  had 
swooned  with  the  terror,  pressed  too  heavily  upon  him,  to  slide 
from  his  left  arm,  and  standing  over  her  form,  while  sheltered 
from  behind  by  the  wall  which  he  had  so  warily  gained,  he 
contented  himself  with  parrying  the  blows  hastily  aimed  at  him, 
without  attempting  to  retaliate.  Few  of  the  Romans,  however 
accustomed  to  such  desultory  warfare,  were  then  well  and  dex- 
terously practiced  in  the  use  of  arms  ;  and  the  science  Adrian 
had  acquired  in  the  schools  of  the  martial  North  befriended 
him  now,  even  against  such  odds.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  the 
followers  of  Orsini  did  not  share  the  fury  of  their  lord  ;  partly 
ifraid  of  the  consequence  to  themselves  should  the  blood  of  so 
/ligh-born  a  signor  be  spilt  by  their  hands,  partly  embarrassed 
with  the  apprehension  that  they  should  see  themselves  sud- 
denly beset  with  the  ruthless  hirelings  so  close  within  hearing, 
Ithey  struck  but  aimless  and  randon  blows,  looking  every  mo- 
ment behind  and  aside,  and  rather  prepared  for  flight  than 
(slaughter.  Echoing  the  cry  of  "Colonna,"  poor  Benedetta  fled 
at  the  first  clash  of  swords.  She  ran  down  the  dreary  street, 
still  shrieking  that  cry,  and  passed  the  very  portals  of  Stephen's 
palace  (where  some  grim  forms  yet  loitered)  without  arresting 
her  steps  there,  so  great  were  her  confusion  and  terror. 

Meanwhile,  the  two  armed  men  whom  Adrian  had  descried 
preceded  leisurely  up  the  street.  The  one  was  of  a  rude  and 
common  mould  ;  his  arms  and  his  complexion  testified  his  call- 
ing and  race ;  and  by  the  great  respect  he  paid  to  his  compan^ 


44  RIENZI, 

ion,  it  was  evident  that  that  companion  was  no  native  of  Italy. 

For  the  brigands  of  the  North,  while  tliey  served  the  vices  of 
the  Southern,  scarce  affected  to  disguise  their  contempt  for  his 
cowardice. 

The  companion  of  the  brigand  was  a  man  of  a  martial,  yet 
^asy  air.  He  wore  no  helmet,  but  a  cap  of  crimson  velvet,  set 
off  with  a  white  plume  ;  on  his  mantle,  or  surcoat,  which  was 
one  of  scarlet,  was  wrought  a  broad  white  cross,  both  at  back 
and  breast  ;  and  so  brilliant  was  the  polish  of  his  corselet, 
that,  as  from  time  to  time  the  mantle  waved  aside  and  exposed 
it  to  the  moonbeams,  it  glittered  like  light  itself. 

"  Nay,  Rodolf,"  said  he,  if  thou  hast  so  good  a  lot  of  it  here 
with  that  hoary  schemer,  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  wish  to 
draw  thee  back  again  to  oui  merry  band.  But  tell  me — this 
Rienzi,  thinkest  thou  he  has  any  solid  and  formidable  power  ?  " 

"  Pshaw  !  noble  chieftain,  not  a  whit  of  it.  He  pleases  the 
mob  ;  but  as  for  the  nobles,  they  laugh  at  him  ;  and  as  for  the 
soldiers,  he  has  no  money !  " 

*'  He  pleases  the  mob,  then  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that  doth  he  ;  and  when  he  speaks  aloud  to  them,  all 
the  roar  of  Rome  is  hushed." 

"  Humph  I  When  nobles  are  hated,  and  soldiers  are  bought, 
a  mob  may,  in  any  hour,  become  the  master.  An  honest 
people  and  a  weak  mob  ;  a  corrupt  people  and  a  strong  mob," 
said  the  other,  rather  to  himself  than  to  his  comrade,  and 
scarce,  perhaps,  conscious  of  the  eternal  truth  of  his  aphorism. 
'*  He  is  no  mere  brawler,  this  Rienzi,  I  suspect.  I  must  see 
to  it.  Hark  !  what  noise  is  that  ?  By  the  holy  Sepulchre,  it 
js  the  ring  of  our  own  metal  !  " 

**  And  that  cry — *  a  Colonna  ! '"  exclaimed  Rodolf.  "  Par- 
^ion  me,  master,  I  must  away  to  the  rescue  !  " 

"  Ay,  it  is  the  duty  of  thy  hire  ;  run  ;  yet  stay,  I  will  accom^^ 
pany  thee,  gratis  for  once,  and  from  pure  passion  for  mischief. 
By  this  hand,  there  is  no  music  like  clashing  steel !  " 

Still  Adrian  continued  gallantly  and  unwounded  to  defend 
himself,  though  his  arm  now  grew  tired,  his  breath  well-nigh 
spent,  and  his  eyes  began  to  wink  and  reel  beneath  the  glare 
of  the  tossing  torches.  Orsini  himself,  exhausted  by  his  fury, 
Had  paused  for  an  instant,  fronting  his  foe  with  a  heaving 
breast  and  savage  looks,  when,  suddenly,  his  followers  ex- 
claimed, "  Fly !  fly  !  the  bandits  approach  !  we  are  surround- 
ed ! " — and  two  of  the  servitors,  without  further  parley,  took 
fairly  to  their  heels.  The  other  five  remained  irresolute,  and 
waiting  but  the  command  of  their  master,  when  he  of  the  white 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  45 

plume,  whom  I  have  just  described,   thrust  himself  into   the 
melee. 

"  What !  gentles,"  said  he,  "  have  ye  finished  already  ?  Nay, 
let  us  not  mar  the  sport  ;  begin  again,  I  beseech  you.  What 
are  the  odds  ?  Ho  !  six  to  one  !  Nay,  no  wonder  that  ye 
have  waited  for  fairer  play.  See,  we  two  will  take  the  weaker 
side.     Now  then,  let  us  begin  again." 

"  Insolent !  "  cried  the  Orsini.  "  Knowest  thou  him  whom 
thou  addressest  thus  arrogantly  ?  I  am  Martino  di  Porto. 
Who  art  thou  ?  " 

''  Walter  de  Montreal,  gentleman  of  Provence,  and  Knight 
of  St.  John  !  "  answered  the  other  carelessly. 

At  that  redoubted  name — the  name  of  one  of  the  boldest 
warriors  and  of  the  most  accomplished  freebooter  of  his  time — 
even  Martino's  cheek  grew  pale,  and  his  followers  uttered  a 
cry  of  terror. 

"  And  this  my  comrade,"  continued  the  knight,  "for  we 
may  as  well  complete  the  introduction,  is  probably  better 
known  to  you  than  I  am,  gentles  of  Rome  ;  and  you  doubtless 
recognize  in  him  Rodolf  of  Saxony,  a  brave  man  and  a  true, 
where  he  is  properly  paid  for  his  services." 

*'Signor,"  said  Adrian  to  his  enemy,  who,  aghast  and  dumb, 
remained  staring  vacantly  at  the  two  new-comers,  "you  are 
now  in  my  power.  See,  our  own  people,  too,  are  ap- 
proaching." 

And,  indeed,  from  the  palace  of  Stephen  Colonna  torches 
be^gan  to  blaze,  and  armed  men  were  seen  rapidly  advancing  to 
the  spot. 

"  Go  home  in  peace,  and  if,  to-morrow,  or  any  day  more 
suitable  to  thee,  thou  wilt  meet  me  alone,  and  lance  to  lance, 
as  is  the  wont  of  the  knights  of  the  empire  ;  or  with  band  to 
Dand,  and  man  for  man,  as  is  rather  the  Roman  custom;  I  will 
i}ot  fail  thee — there  is  my  gage." 

"  Nobly  spoken,"  said  Montreal  ;  "and  if  ye  choose  the  lat- 
ter, by  your  leave,  I  will  be  one  of  the  party." 

Martino  answered  not ;  he  took  up  the  glove,  thrust  it  in  his 
bosom,  and  strode  hastily  away ;  only,  when  he  had  got  some 
paces  down  the  street,  he  turned  back,  and,  shaking  his 
clenched  hand  at  Adrian,  exclaimed  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
impotent  rage,  "  Faithful  to  death  !  " 

The  words  made  one  of  the  mottoes  of  the  Orsini;  and, 
whatever  its  earlier  signification,  had  long  passed  into  current 
proverb,  to  signify  their  hatred  to  the  ("olonna, 

Adrian,  now  ei^a^ed  in  raisings  and  attempting  to  revive^ 


46  RIENZI, 

Irene,  who  was  still  insensible,  disdainfully  left  it  to  Montreal 
to  reply. 

"  I  doubt  not,  Signor,"  said  the  latter  coolly,"  that  thou  wilt 
be  faithful  to  Death  :  for  Death  God  wot,  is  the  only  contract 
wliich  men,  however   ingenious,  are  unable  to  break  or  evade." 

"  Pardon  me,  gentle  Knight,"  said  Adrian,  looking  up  from 
his  charge,  "  if  I  do  not  yet  give  myself  wholly  to  gratitude.  I 
have  learned  enough  of  knighthood  to  feel  that  thou  wilt  ac- 
Knowledge  that  my  first  duty  is  here — " 

"  Oh,  a  lady,  then,  was  the  cause  of  the  quarrel !  I  need 
t.ot  ask  who  was  in  the  right,  when  a  man  brings  to  the  rivalry 
such  odds  as  yon  caitiff." 

"  Thou  mistakest  a  little.  Sir  Knight  ;  it  is  but  a  lamb  I 
h-ave  rescued  from  the  wolf." 

*'  For  thy  own  table  !     Be  it  so  !  "  returned  the  Knight  gaily 

Adrian  smiled  gravely,  and  shook  his  head  in  denial.  In 
truth,  he  was  s©mewhat  embarrassed  by  his  situation.  Though 
habitually  gallant,  he  was  not  willing  to  expose  to  misconstruc- 
tion the  disinterestedness  of  his  late  conduct,  and  (for  it  was 
his  policy  to  conciliate  popularity)  to  sully  the  credit  which  his 
bravery  would  give  him  among  the  citizens,  by  conveying  Irene 
(whose  beauty,  too,  as  yet,  he  had  scarcely  noted)  to  his  own 
dwelling  ;  and  yet,  in  her  present  situation,  there  was  no  alter- 
native. She  evinced  no  sign  of  life.  He  knew  not  her  home» 
nor  parentage.  Benedetta  had  vanished.  He  could  not  leave 
her  in  the  streets;  he  could  not  resign  her  to  the  care  of  anoth- 
er ;  and  as  she  lay  now  upon  his  breast,  he  felt  her  already  en- 
deared to  him  by  that  sense  of  protection  which  is  so  grateful 
to  the  human  heart.  He  briefly,  therefore,  explained  to  those 
now  gathered  round  him  his  present  situation,  and  the  cause 
of  the  past  conflict  ;  and  bade  the  torch-bearers  precede  him  to 
.♦lis  home. 

"  You,  Sir  Knight,"  added  he,  turning  to  Montreal,  "if  not 
already  more  pleasantly  lodged,  will,  I  trust,  deign  to  be  my 
guest  ? 

"  Thanks,  Signor,"  answered  Montreal  maliciously,  "  but  I, 
also,  perhaps,  have  my  own  affairs  to  watch  over.  Adieu  !  I 
shall  seek  you  at  the  earliest  occasion.  Fair  night  and  gentle 
dreams  ! 

'  Robers  Bertrams  qui  estoit  tors 
Mais  h  ceval  estoit  mult  fors 
Cil  avoit  o  lui  grans  eflfors 
Multi  ot  'homes  per  lui  mors.'  "  * 

*An  nt-favored  man,  but  a  ntout  horseman,  wa*  Robert  Bertram.  Croat  doed*  w«M 
Ul,  niul  many  »  man  dind  by  hit  h«nd< 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  47 

And,  muttering  this  rugged  chant  from  the  old  "  Roman  de 
Roil,"  the  Proven9al,  followed  by  Rodolf,  pursued  his  way. 

The  vast  extent  of  Rome,  and  the  thinness  of  its  population, 
left  many  of  the  streets  utterly  deserted.  The  principal  nobles 
were  thus  enabled  to  possess  themselves  of  a  wide  range  of 
buildings,  which  they  fortified,  partly  against  each  other,  partly 
against  the  people  ;  their  numerous  relatives  and  clients  lived 
Firound  them,  forming,  as  it  were,  petty  courts  and  cities  in 
themselves. 

Almost  opposite  to  the  principal  palace  of  the  Colonna  (oc- 
tupied  by  his  powerful  kinsman,  Stephen)  was  the  mansion  of 
Adrian.  Heavily  swung  back  the  massive  gates  at  his  approach  ^ 
he  ascended  the  broad  staircase,  and  bore  his  charge  into  an 
apartment  which  his  tastes  had  decorated  in  a  fashion  not  as 
yet  common  in  that  age.  Ancient  statues  and  busts  were 
arranged  around  ;  the  pictured  arras  of  Lombardy  decorated 
the  walls,  and  covered  the  massive  seats. 

**  What,  ho  !     Lights  here,  and  wine  !  "  cried  the  Seneschal. 

"  Leave  us  alone,"  said  Adrian,  gazing  passionately  on  the 
pale  cheek  of  Irene,  as  he  now,  by  the  clear  light,  beheld  all 
its  beauty  ;  and  a  sweet  yet  burning  hope  crept  into  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    DESCRIPTION    OF    A    CONSPIRATOR,   AND    THE  DAWN    OF 

THE   CONSPIRACY. 

Alone  by  a  table  covered  with  various  papers  sat  a  man  in 
the  prime  of  life.  The  chamber  was  low  and  long  ;  many 
antique  and  disfigured  bas-reliefs  and  torsos  were  placed  around 
the  wall,  interspersed,  here  and  there,  with  the  short  sword  and 
close  casque,  time-worn  relics  of  the  prowess  of  ancient  Rome. 
Right  above  the  table  at  which  he  sat  the  moonlight  streamed 
through  a  high  and  narrow  casement,  deep  sunk  in  the  massy 
wall.  In  a  niche  to  the  right  of  this  window,  guarded  by  a 
sliding  door,  which  was  now  partially  drawn  aside,  but  Avhich, 
by  its  solid  substance,  and  the  sheet  of  iron  with  whirh  it  was 
plated,  testified  how  valuable,  in  the  eyes  of  the  owner,  was  the 
treasure  it  protected,  were  ranged  some  thirty  or  forty  volumes, 
then  deem.ed  no  inconsiderable  library ;  and  being,  for  the 
most  part,  the  laborious  copies  in  manuscript  by  the  hand  of 
the  owner  from  immortal  originals. 

Leaning  his  cheek  on  his  hand,  bis  lirow  somewhat  knit,  hia 


48  RIENZI, 

lip  slightly  compressed,  that  personage  indulged  in  meditations 
^ar  other  tlian  the  indolent  dreams  of  scholars.  As  the  high 
and  still  mootilight  shone  upon  his  countenance,  it  gave  an  ad- 
ditional and  solemn  dignity  to  features  whicli  were  naturally  or 
a  grave  and  majestic  cast.  Thick  and  auburn  hair,  the  color 
of  which,  not  common  to  the  Romans,  was  ascribed  to  Ins 
descent  from  the  Teuton  emperor,  clustered  in  large  curls 
above  a  high  and  expansive  forehead  ,  and  even  the  pi  esent 
thoughtful  compression  of  the  brow  could  not  mar  the  asjje'^-'^ 
of  latent  power,  which  it  derived,  from  that  great  breaoth  be- 
tween the  eyes,  in  which  the  Grecian  sculptois  of  old  so  ad- 
mirably conveyed  the  expression  of  authority,  and  the  silent 
energy  of  command.  But  his  features  were  not  cast  in  the 
Grecian,  still  less  in  the  Teuton,  mould.  The  iron  jaw,  th? 
aquiline  nose,  the  somewhat  sunken  cheek,  strikingly  recalled 
the  character  of  the  hard  Roman  race,  and  might  not  inaptly 
have  suggested  to  a  painter  a  model  for  the  younger  Brutus. 

The  marked  outline  of  the  face,  and  the  short,  firm  upper 
lip,  were  not  concealed  by  the  beard  and  mustachios  usually 
then  worn  ;  and,  in  the  faded  portrait  of  the  person  now  de- 
scribed, still  extant  at  Rome,  may  be  -rr.ccd  n  certain  resem- 
blance to  the  popular  pictures  of  Napoleon  ;  not  indeed  in  the 
features,  which  are  more  stern  and  prominent  in  the  portrait  of 
the  Roman,  but  in  that  peculiar  expression  of  concentrated  and 
tranquil  power  which  so  nearly  realizes  the  ideal  of  intellectual 
majesty.  Though  still  young,  the  personal  advantages  most 
peculiar  to  youth — the  bloom  and  glow,  the  rounded  cheek  in 
which  care  has  not  yet  ploughed  its  lines,  the  full,  unsunken 
eye,  and  the  slender  delicacy  of  frame — these  were  not  the 
characteristics  of  that  solitary  student.  And,  though  consid- 
ered by  his  contemporaries  as  eminently  handsome,  the  judi:- 
Lient  was  probably  formed  less  from  the  more  vulgar  claims  10 
iuch  distinction,  than  from  the  height  of  the  stature, — an  ad- 
vantage at  that  time  more  esteemed  than  at  present, — and  iha' 
nobler  order  of  beauty  which  cultivated  genius  and  command- 
ing character  usually  stamp  upon  even  homely  features  ;  the 
more  rare  in  an  age  so  rugged. 

The  character  of  Rienzi  (for  the  youth  presented  to  the 
reader  in  the  first  chapter  of  this  history  is  now  again  before 
him  in  maturer  years)  had  acquired  greater  hardness  and 
energy  with  each  stepping-stone  to  power.  There  was  a  circum- 
stance attendant  on  his  birth  which  had,  probably,  exercised 
great  and  early  influence  on  his  ambition.  Though  his  parents 
were  in  humble  circumstances,  and  of  lowly  calling,  his  fathei 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  46 

was  the  natural  son  of  the  Emperor,  Henry  VII.;  *  and  it  was 
the  pride  of  the  parents  that  probably  gave  to  Rienzi  the  un- 
wonted advantages  of  education.  This  pride  transmitted  to 
himself — his  descent  from  royahy  dinned  into  his  ear,  infused 
into  his  thoughts,  from  his  cradle — made  him,  even  in  his 
earliest  youth,  deem  himself  the  equal  of  the  Roman  nignors, 
and  half  unconsciously  aspire  to  be  their  superior.  But  as  the 
literature  of  Rome  was  unfolded  to  his  eager  eye  and  ambitious 
Heart,  he  became  imbued  with  that  pride  of  country  which  is 
nobler  than  the  pride  of  birth  ;  and,  save  when  stung  by  allu- 
sions to  his  origin,  he  unaffectedly  valued  himself  more  on 
being  a  Roman  plebeian  than  the  descendant  of  a  Teuton  king. 
His  brother's  death,  and  the  vicissitudes  he  himself  had  al- 
ready undergone,  deepened  the  earnest  and  solemn  qualities  of 
his  character  ;  and,  at  length,  all  the  faculties  of  a  very  uncom- 
mon intellect  were  concentrated  into  one  object,  which  borrowed 
from  a  mind  strongly  and  mystically  religious,  as  well  as 
patriotic,  a  sacred  aspect,  and  grew  at  once  a  duty  and  a 
passion. 

*' Yes,"  said  Rienzi,  breaking  suddenly  from  his  revery,  "yes, 
the  day  is  at  hand  when  Rome  shall  rise  again  from  her  ashes  ; 
Justice  shall  dethrone  Oppression  ;  men  shall  walk  safe  in  their 
ancient  Forum.  We  will  rouse  from  his  forgotten  tomb  the  in- 
domitable soul  of  Cato  !  There  shall  be  z, people  once  more  in 
Rome  !  And  I — I  shall  be  the  instrument  of  that  triumph, 
the  restorer  of  my  race  !  mine  shall  be  the  first  voice  to  swell 
the  battle-cry  of  freedom  ;  mine  the  first  hand  to  rear  hei 
banner.  Yes,  from  the  height  of  my  own  soul  as  from  a 
mountain,  I  see  already  rising  the  liberties  and  the  grandeur  of 
the  New  Rome  ;  and  on  the  corner-stone  of  the  mighty  fabric 
posterity  shall  read  my  name." 

Uttering  these  lofty  boasts,  the  whole  person  of  the  speaker 
seemed  instinct  with  his  ambition.  He  strode  the  gloomy 
chamber  with  light  and  rapid  steps,  as  if  on  air ;  his  breast 
heaved,  his  eyes  glowed.  He  felt  that  love  itself  can  scarcely 
bestow  a  rapture  equal  to  that  which  is  felt,  in  his  first  virgin 
enthusiasm,  by  a  patriot  who  knows  himself  sijicere  ! 

There  was  a  slight  knock  at  the  door,  and  a  servitor,  in  the 
rich  liveries  worn  by  the  pope's  officials,*  presented  himself. 

*  De  Sade  supposes  that  the  mother  of  Rienzi  was  the  daughter  of  an  illegitimate  sor' 
of  Henry  VII.,  supporting  his  opinion  from  a  MS.  in  the  Vatican.  But,  according  to  the 
contemporaneous  biographer,  Rienzi,  in  addressing  Charles,  king  of  Bohemia,  claims  th? 
relationship  from  his  father  "  Di  vostro  legnaggio  sono — figlio  di  bastardo  d'Enrico  imper. 
jitore,"  etc.  A  more  recent  writer,  ii  Padre  Gabrini,  cites  an  inscription  in  support  of  thi* 
descent :   "  Nicolaus    IVihunus  .       .   .  Laurentii  Teutonici  Filius,"  etc. 

*  Not  the  present  hideous  habiliments,  which  are  said  to  have  been   the  invention  o| 
Michad  Angelo. 


JO  RIENZI, 

"  Signer,  said  he,  "  my  lord,  the  Bishop  of  Orvletto,  is 
without." 

"  Ha  !  that  is  fortunate.  Lights  there  !  My  lord,  this  is  an 
honor  which  I  can  estimate  better  than  express." 

"Tut,  tut  !  my  good  friend,"  said  the  Bishop,  entering,  and 
seating  himself  familiarly,  "  no  ceremonies  between  the  servants 
of  the  Church  ;  and  never,  I  ween  well,  had  she  greater  need 
of  true  friends  than  now.  These  unholy  tumults,  tliese  licen- 
tious contentions,  in  the  very  shrine  and  city  of  St.  Peter,  are 
sufficient  to  scandalize  all  Christendom." 

"  And  so  will  it  be,"  said  Rienzi,  "until  his  Holiness  himself 
shall  be  graciously  persuaded  to  fix  his  residence  in  the  seat  of 
his  predecessors,  and  curb  with  a  strong  arm  the  excesses  of 
the  nobles." 

"Alas,  man!"  said  the  Bishop,  "thou  knowest  that  these 
words  are  but  as  wind  ;  for  were  the  Pope  to  fulfil  thy  wishes, 
and  remove  from  Avignon  to  Rome,  by  the  blood  of  St.  Peter ! 
he  would  not  curb  the  nobles,  but  the  nobles  would  curb  him. 
Thou  knowest  well  that  until  his  blessed  predecessor,  of  pious 
memory,  conceived  the  wise  design  of  escaping  to  Avignon, 
the  Father  of  the  Christian  world  was  but  like  many  other 
fathers  in  their  old  age,  controlled  and  guarded  by  his  re- 
bellious children.  Recollectest  thou  not  how  the  holy  Boniface 
himself,  a  man  of  great  heart,  and  nerves  of  iron,  was  kept  in 
thraldom  by  the  ancestors  of  the  Orsini ;  his  entrances  and 
exits  made  but  at  their  will,  so  that,  like  a  caged  eagle,  ht 
beat  himself  against  his  bars  and  died  ?  Verily,  thou  talkest 
of  the  memories  of  Rome  ;  these  are  not  the  memories  that 
are  very  attractive  to  popes." 

"Well,"  said  Rienzi,  laughing  gently,  and  drawing  his  seat 
nearer  to  the  Bishop's,  "  my  lord  has  certainly  the  best  of  the 
argument  at  present ;  and  I  must  own  that  strong,  licentious, 
and  unhallowed  as  the  order  of  nobility  was  then,  it  is  yet 
more  so  now." 

"  Even  I,"  rejoined  Raimond,  coloring  as  he  spoke,  "  though 
Vicar  of  the  Pope,  and  representative  of  his  spiritual  authority, 
was,  but  three  days  ago,  subjected  to  a  coarse  affront  from  that 
very  Stephen  Colonna  who  has  ever  received  such  favor  and 
tenderness  from  the  Holy  See.  His  servitors  jostled  mine  in 
the  open  streets,  and  I  myself — I,  the  delegate  of  the  sire  of 
kings — was  forced  to  draw  aside  to  the  wall,  and  wait  until  the 
hoary  insolent  swept  by.  Nor  were  blaspheming  words  wanting 
%o  complete  the  insult.     *  Pardon,  Lord  Bishop,'   said  he,  as 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  5 1 

he  passed  me ;  but  this  world,  thou  knowest,  must  necessarily 
take  precedence  of  the  other.'  " 

"  Dared  he  so  high  ?  "  said  Rienzi,  shading  his  face  with  his 
hand,  as  a  very  peculiar  smile — scarcely  itself  joyous,  though  it 
made  others  gay,  and  which  completely  changed  the  character 
of  his  face,  naturally  grave  even  to  sternness — played  round 
his  lips.      "  Then  it  is  time  for  thee,  holy  father,  as  for  us,  to — '* 

'"To  what?"  mterrupted  the  Bishop  quickly.  "Can  we 
effect  aught !  Dismiss  thy  enthusiastic  dreamings  ;  descend  to 
the  real  earth  ;  look  soberly  round  us.  Against  men  so  power- 
ful, what  can  we  do  ?  " 

"My  lord,"  answered  Rienzi  gravely,  "  it  is  the  misfortune 
of  signers  of  your  rank  never  to  know  the  people,  or  the  accu- 
rate signs  of  the  time.  As  those  who  pass  over  the  heights  of 
mountains  see  the  clouds  sweep  below,  veiling  the  plains  and 
valleys  from  their  gaze,  while  they,  only  a  little  above  the  level, 
survey  the  movements  and  the  homes  of  men  ;  even  so  from 
your  lofty  eminence  ye  behold  but  the  indistinct  and  sullen 
vapors,  while  from  my  humbler  station  I  see  the  preparations 
of  the  shepherds  to  shelter  themselves  and  herds  from  the 
storm  which  those  clouds  betoken.  Despair  not,  my  lord  ; 
endurance  goes  but  to  a  certain  limit ;  to  that  limit  it  is  already 
stretched  ;  Rome  waits  but  the  occasion  (it  will  soon  come,  but 
not  suddenly)  to  rise  simultaneously  against  her  oppressors," 

The  great  secret  of  eloquence  is  to  be  in  earnest ;  the  great 
secret  of  Rienzi's  eloquence  was  in  the  mightiness  of 
his  enthusiasm.  He  never  spoke  as  one  who  doubted  of 
success.  Perhaps,  like  most  men  who  undertake  high  and 
great  actions,  he  himself  was  never  thoroughly  aware  of  the 
obstacles  in  his  way.  He  saw  the  end,  bright  and  clear,  and 
overleaped,  in  the  vision  of  his  soul,  the  crosses  and  the  length 
of  the  path ;  thus  the  deep  convictions  of  his  own  mind 
stamped  themselves  irresistibly  upon  others.  He  seemed  less 
to  promise  than  to  prophesy. 

The  Bishop  of  Orvietto,  not  over-wise,  yet  a  man  of  cool 
temperament  and  much  worldly  experience,  was  forcibly  im- 
pressed by  the  energy  of  his  companion  ;  perhaps,  indeed,  the 
more  so,  inasmuch  as  his  own  pride  and  his  own  passions  were 
also  enlisted  against  the  arrogance  and  license  of  the  nobles. 
He  paused  ere  he  replied  to  Rienzi. 

*'  But  is  it,"  he  asked  at  length,  "  only  the  plebeians  who  will 
rise  ?     Thou  knowest  ho\V  they  are  caitiff  and  uncertain." 

"My   iol-d/*   answered    ktertzi,  "judge   by  one   fact,   how 


53  RlENZr, 

knowest  how  loudly  .  speak  against  the  nobles  ;  I  cite  themb5F 
their  name  ;  I  beard  the  Savelli,  the  Orsini,  the  Colonna,  in 
their  very  hearing.  Thinkest  thou  they  forgive  me  ?  thinkest 
thou  that,  were  only  the  plebeians  my  safeguard  and  my 
favorers,  they  would  not  seize  me  by  open  force ;  that  I  had 
not  long  ere  this  found  a  gag  in  their  dungeons,  or  been 
S'vallowed  up  in  the  eternal  dumbness  of  the  grave?  Observe," 
continued  he,  as,  reading  the  Vicar's  countenance,  he  perceived 
^he  impression  he  had  made  ;  '*  observe,  that,  throughout  tlie 
whole  world,  a  great  revolution  has  begun.  The  barbaric 
darkness  of  centuries  has  been  broken  ;  the  knowledge  which 
made  men  as  demigods  in  the  past  time  has  been  called  from 
her  urn  ;  a  Power  subtler  than  brute  force,  and  mightier  than 
armed  men,  is  at  work  ;  we  have  begun  once  more  to  do 
homage  to  the  Royalty  of  Mind.  Yes,  that  same  Power  which, 
a  few  years  ago,  crowned  Petrarch  in  the  Capitol,  when  it  wit- 
nessed, after  the  silence  of  twelve  centuries,  the  glories  of  a 
TRIUMPH  ;  which  heaped  upon  a  man  of  obscure  birth,  and 
unknown  in  arms,  the  same  honors  given  of  old  to  emperors 
and  the  vanquishers  of  kings  ;  which  united  in  one  act  of. 
homage  even  the  rival  houses  of  Colonna  and  Orsini  ;  which 
made  the  haughtiest  patricians  emulous  to  bear  the  train,  to 
touch  but  the  purple  robe,  of  the  son  of  the  Florentine  ple- 
beian ;  which  still  draws  the  eyes  of  Europe  to  the  lowly  cot- 
tage of  Vaucluse  ;  which  gives  to  the  humbler  student  the 
all-acknowledged  license  to  admonish  tyrants,  and  approach, 
with  haughty  prayers,  even  the  Father  of  the  Church — yes, 
that  same  Power,  which,  working  silently  throughout  Italy^ 
murmurs  under  the  solid  base  of  the  Venetian  oligarchy  ;* 
which,  beyond  the  Alps,  has  wakened  into  visible  and  sudden 
life  in  Spain,  in  Germany,  in  Flanders  ;  and  which,  even  in 
that  barbarous  isle,  conquered  by  the  Norman  sword,  ruled  by 
the  bravest  of  living  kings,  f  has  roused  a  spirit  Norman  cannot 
break — kings  to  rule  over  must  rule  by — yes,  that  same  power 
is  everywhere  abroad:  it  speaks,  it  conquers  in  the  voice  even  of 
him  who  is  before  you  ;  it  unites  in  his  cause  all  on  whom  one 
glimmering  of  light  has  burst,  all  in  whom  one  generous  desire 
can  be  kindled  !  Know,  Lord  Vicar,  that  there  is  not  a  man  in 
Rome,  save   our  oppressors  themselves — not  a  man  who  has 

♦  It  was  about  eight  years  afterwards  that  the  long-smothered  hate  of  the  Venetian 
people  to  that  wisest  and  most  vigilant  of  all  oligarchies,  the  Sparta  of  Italy,  broke  out  in 
the  conspiracy  under  Marino  Faliero. 

t  Edward  1 11..  in  whose  reign  opinions  far  more  popular  than  those  of  the  following 
century  began  to  work.  The  Civil  Wars  liirew  b.«r,k  the  action  into  the  blood.  It  was 
indeed  nn  «gB  throughout  ih«  world  which  put  forth  abundant  bi'jssom*^  but  eft)de  an<| 
Wliriptfltd  fruit  i  A  nin^ttltiT  <n<^  f«rHnw«(i  by  «•  sin^jwltfr  •  f aus«. 


Tttfi    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNfiS..  53 

learned  one  syllable  of  our  ancient  tongue — whose  heart  and 
sword  are  not  with  me.  The  peaceful  cultivators  of  letters — ■ 
the  proud  nobles  of  the  second  order — the  rising  race,  wiser 
than  their  slothful  sires  ;  above  all,  my  lord,  the  humbler 
ministers  of  religion,  priests  and  monks,  whom  luxury  hath  not 
blinded,  pomp  hath  not  deafened,  to  the  monstrous  outrage  to 
Christianity  daily  and  nightly  perpetrated  in  the  Christian 
Capital  ;  these, — all  these, — are  linked  with  the  merchant  and 
the  artisan  in  one  indissoluble  bond,  waiting  but  the  signal  ta 
fall  or  to  conquer,  to  live  freemen  or  to  die  martyrs,  with 
Rienzi  and  their  country!  " 

*'Sayest  thou  so  in  truth?"  said  the  Bishop,  startled,  and 
half  rising.  "Prove  but  thy  words,  and  thou  shalt  not  find  the 
ministers  of  God  are  less  eager  than  their  lay  brethren  for  the 
happiness  of  men." 

*'What  I  say,"  rejoined  Rienzi,  in  a  cooler  tone,  "that  can  I 
show  ;  but  I  may  only  prove  it  to  those  who  will  be  with  us." 

"Fear  me  not,"  answered  Raimond ;  "I  know  well  the 
secret  mind  of  his  Holiness,  whose  delegate  and  representative 
I  am  ;  and  could  he  see  but  the  legitimate  and  natural  limit 
set  to  the  power  of  the  patricians,  who,  in  their  arrogance, 
have  set  st  nought  the  authority  of  the  Church  itself,  be  sure 
that  he  would  smile  on  the  hand  that  drew  the  line.  Nay,  so 
certain  of  this  am  I,  that  if  ye  succeed,  I,  his  responsible  but 
unworthy  vicar,  will  myself  sanction  the  success.  But  beware 
of  crude  attempts  ;  the  Church  must  not  be  weakened  by  link- 
iny  itself  to  failure." 

"  Right,  my  lord,"  answered  Rienzi ;  "  and  in  this,  the  policy 
of  religion  is  that  of  freedom.  Judge  of  my  prudence  by  my 
iOng  delay.  He  who  can  see  all  around  him  impatient — him- 
self :aot  less  so — and  yet  suppress  the  signal,  and  bide  the 
hour,  :s  not  likely  to  lose  his  cause  by  rashness." 

"  More,  then,  of  thii  anon,"  said  the  Bishop,  resettling  him- 
self in  his  seat.  "  As  thy  plans  mature,  fear  not  to  communis 
cate  with  me.  Believe  that  Rome  has  no  firmer  friend  than  he 
who,  ordained  to  preseive  order,  finds  himself  impotent  against 
aggression.  Meanwhile,  to  the  object  of  my  present  visit, 
which  links  itself,  in  some  measure,  perhaps,  with  the  topics  oil 
which  we  have  conversed.  Thou  knowest  that  when  his  Holi- 
ness intrusted  thee  with  thy  present  office,  he  bade  thee  also 
announce  his  beneficent  intention  of  granting  a  general  Jubilee 
at  Rome  for  the  year  1350;  a  most  admirable  design  for  two 
reasons,  sufficiently  apparent  to  thyself :  first,  that  every 
Christian  soul  that  may  undertake  the  oilgrimage  to  Rome  on 


j4  RiEN21. 

that  occasion  may  thus  obtain  a  general  remission  of  sins ;  and 
secondly,  because,  to  speak  carnally,  the  concourse  of  pilgrims 
so  assembled,  usually,  by  the  donations  nud  offerings  their 
piety  suggests,  very  materially  add  to  the  revenues  of  the  Holy 
See  :  at  this  time,  by  the  way,  in  no  very  flourishing  condition. 
This  thou  knowest,  dear  Rienzi." 

Rienzi  bowed  his  head  in  assent,  and  the  prelate  continued: 

"Well,  it  is  with  the  greatest  grief  that  his  Holiness  per- 
ceives that  his  pious  intentions  are  likely  to  be  frustrated  ;  for 
so  fierce  and  numerous  are  now  the  brigands  in  the  public 
approaches  to  Rome,  that,  verily,  the  boldest  pilgrim  may 
tremble  a  little  to  undertake  the  journey  ;  and  those  who  do 
so  venture  will,  probably,  be  composed  of  the  poorest  of  the 
Christian  community, — men  who,  bringing  with  them  neither 
gold,  nor  silver,  nor  precious  offerings,  will  have  little  to  fear 
from  the  rapacity  of  the  brigands.  Hence  arise  two  conse- 
quences :  on  the  one  hand,  the  rich — whom.  Heaven  knows, 
and  the  Gospel  has,  indeed,  expressly  declared,  have  the  most 
need  of  a  remission  of  sins — will  be  deprived  of  this  glorious 
occasion  for  absolution  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  coffers  of 
the  Church  will  be  impiously  defrauded  of  that  wealth  which 
it  would  otherwise  doubtless  obtain  from  the  zeal  of  her 
children." 

"  Nothing  can  be  more  logically  manifest,  my  lord,"  said 
Rienzi. 

The  Vicar  continued  :  *'  Now,  in  letters  received  five  days 
since  from  his  Holiness,  he  bade  me  expose  these  fearful 
consequences  to  Christianity  to  the  various  patricians  who  are 
legitimately  fiefs  of  the  Church,  and  command  their  resolute 
combination  against  the  marauders  of  the  road.  With  these 
have  I  conferred,  and  vainly." 

"  For  by  the  aid,  and  from  the  troops,  of  those  very  brigands, 
these  patricians  have  fortified  their  palaces  against  each 
other,"  added  Rienzi. 

"Exactly  for  that  reason,"  rcjoined  the  Bishop.  *'Nay 
Stephen  Colonna  himself  had  the  audacity  to  confess  it. 
Utterly  unmoved  by  the  loss  to  so  many  precious  souls,  and,  I 
may  add,  to  the  papal  treasury,  which  ought  to  be  little  less 
dear  to  right-discerning  men,  they  refuse  to  advance  a  step 
against  the  bandits.  Now,  then,  hearken  the  seeond  mandate 
of  his  Holiness  :  '  Failing  the  nobles,'  saith  he,  in  his  prophetic 
sagacity,  'confer  with  Cola  di  Rienzi.  He  is  a  bold  man,  and 
a  pious,  and,  thou  tellest  me,  of  great  weight  with  the  people  ; 
and  say   tc  him,  that  if   his  wit   can  devise   the  method   for 


THE    LAST    O?   THE    TRIBUNES,  55 

extirpating  these  sons  of  Belial,  and  rendering  a  safe  passage 
along  the  public  ways,  largely,  indeed,  will  he  merit  at  our 
hands — lasting  will  be  the  gratitude  we  shall  owe  to  him ;  and 
whatever  succor  thou,  and  the  servants  of  our  See,  can  render 
to  him,  let  it  not  be  stinted." 

"  Said  his  Holiness  thus  !  "  exclaimed  Rienzi.  *'  I  ask  no  more  ; 
the  gratitude  is  mine  that  he  hath  thought  thus  of  his  servant, 
and  intrusted  me  with  his  charge  ;  at  once  I  accept  it — at 
once  I  pledge  myself  to  success.  Let  us,  my  lord,  let  us, 
{hen,  clearly  understand  the  limits  ordained  to  my  discretion. 
To  curb  the  brigands  v.nthout  the  walls,  I  must  have  authority 
over  those  within.  If  I  undertake,  at  peril  of  my  life,  to  clear 
all  the  avenues  of  Rome  of  the  robbers  who  now  infest  it,  shall 
I  have  full  license  for  conduct  bold,  peremptory,  and  severe  ?" 

"Such  conduct  the  very  nature  of  the  charge  demands,"  re- 
plied Raimond. 

"  Ay,  even  though  it  be  exercised  against  the  arch  offenders — 
against  the  supporters  of  the  brigands — against  the  haughtiest 
of  the  nobles  themselves?" 

The  Bishop  paused,  and  looked  hard  in  the  face  of  the 
speaker.  "  I  repeat,"  said  he  at  length,  sinking  his  voice,  and 
with  a  significant  tone,  *'  in  these  bold  attempts,  success  is  the 
sole  sanction.  Succeed^  and  we  will  excuse  thee  all,  even  to 
the—" 

"  Death  of  a  Colonna  or  an  Orsini,  should  justice  demand 
it ;  and  provided  it  be  according  to  the  law,  and  only  incurred 
by  a  violation  of  the  law  !  "  added  Rienzi  firmly. 

The  Bishop  did  not  reply  in  v/ords,  but  a  slight  motion  of 
his  head  was  sufficient  answer  to  Rienzi. 

"  My  lord,"  said  he,  *'  from  this  time,  then,  all  is  well ;  I  date 
the  revolution — the  restoration  of  order,  of  the  state — from 
this  hour,  this  very  conference.  Till  now,  knowing  that  jus- 
tice must  never  wink  upon  great  offenders,  I  had  hesitated 
through  fear  lest  thou  and  his  Holiness  might  deem  it  severity 
and  blame  him  who  replaces  the  law,  because  he  smites  th( 
violators  of  law.  Now  I  judge  thee  more  rightly.  Your  hand^ 
my  lord." 

The  Bishop  extended  his  hand  ;  Rienzi  grasped  it  firmly, 
and  then  raised  it  respectfully  to  his  lips.  Both  felt  that  the 
compact  was  sealed. 

This  conference,  so  long  in  recital,  was  short  in  reality  ;  but 
its  object  was  already  finished,  and  the  Bishop  rose  to  depart. 
The  outer  portal  of  the  house  was  opened,  the  numerous  ser* 
yitorsof  the  Bishop  held  on  high  their  torches,  and  he  had  just 


56  RIEN-Zl, 

turned  from  Rienzi,  who  had  attended  him  to  the  gate,  when 
a  female  passed  hastily  through  the  prelate's  train,  and,  start- 
ing as  she  beheld  Rienzi,  flung  herself  at  his  feet. 

'*  Oh,  hasten,  sir,  hasten,  for  the  love  of  God,  hasten  !  or 
the  young  Signora  is  lost  forever  !  " 

"  The  Signora  !  Heaven  and  earth,  Benedetta,  of  whom 
do  you  speak  ?     Of  my  sister — of  Irene  ?  is  she  not  within  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  sir — the  Orsini — the  Orsini  !  " 

*'  What  of  them  ?     Speak,  woman  !  '* 

Here,  breathlessly,  and  with  many  a  break,  Benedetta,  re- 
counted to  Rienzi,  in  whom  the  reader  has  already  recognized 
the  brother  of  Irene,  so  far  of  the  adventure  with  Martino  di 
Porto  as  she  had  witnessed  :  of  the  termination  and  result  of  the 
contest  she  knew  naught. 

Rienzi  listened  in  silence  ;  but  the  deadly  paleness  of  his 
countenance,  and  the  writhing  of  the  nether  lip,  testified  the 
emotions  to  which  he  gave  no  audible  vent. 

"  You  hear,  my  Lord  Bishop  ;  you  hear,"  said  he,  when  Ben- 
edetta had  concluded  ;  and  turning  to  the  Bishop,  whose  de- 
parture the  narrative  had  delayed,  "you  hear  to  what  outrage 
the  citizens  of  Rome  are  subjected.  My  hat  and  sword !  in- 
stantly !     My  lord,  forgive  my  abruptness." 

"  Whither  art  thou  bent,  then  ?  "  asked  Raimond. 

"  Whither  !  whither !  Ay,  I  forget,  my  lord,  you  have  no 
sister.  Perhaps,  too,  you  had  no  brother  ?  No,  no  ;  one  vic- 
tim at  least  I  will  live  to  save.  Whither,  you  ask  me  ?  To  the 
palace  of  Martino  di  Porto." 

''  To  an  Orsini  aloney  and  for  justice  ?  " 

"Alone,  and  iox  justice !  No!"  shouted  Rienzi,  in  a  loud 
voice,  as  he  seized  his  sword,  now  brought  to  him  by  one  of 
his  servants,  and  rushed  from  the  house  ;  "  but  one  man  is 
sufficient  for  revenge  !  " 

The  Bishop  paused  for  a  moment's  deliberation.  "  He  must 
not  be  lost,"  muttered  he,  "  as  he  well  may  be,  if  exposed  thus 
solitary  to  the  wolf's  rage.  What,  ho  !  "  he  cried  aloud  ;  "ad- 
vance the  torches  !  Quick,  quick  !  We  ourself — we,  the  Vicar 
of  the  Pope — will  see  to  this.  Calm  yourselves,  good  people  ; 
your  young  Signora  shall  be  restored.  On  I  to  the  palace  Q% 
Martino  di  Porto  \  * 


THE  LAST  OF  THF  TRIBUNES.  rj 

CHAPTER  VI. 

TRINE  IN  THE  PALACE  OF    ADRIAN  DI  CASTELLO. 

As  the  Cyprian  gazed  on  the  image  in  which  he  had  em- 
bodied a  youth  of  dreams,  what  time  the  Hving  luies  flushed 
slowly  beneath  the  marble,  so  gazed  the  young  and  passionate 
Adrian  upon  the  form  reclined  before  him,  reawakening  grad- 
ually to  life.  And,  if  the  beauty  of  that  face  were  not  of  the  { 
loftiest  or  the  most  dazzling  order,  if  its  soft  and  quiet  char-  • 
acter  might  be  outshone  by  many,  of  loveliness  less  really  per-  * 
feet,  yet  never  was  there  a  countenance  that,  to  some  eyes, 
would  have  seemed  more  charming,  and  never  one  in  which 
more  eloquently  was  wrought  that  ineffable  and  virgin  expres- 
sion which  Italian  art  seeks  for  its  models;  in  which  modesty 
is  the  outward,  and  tenderness  the  latent,  expression ;  the 
bloom  of  youth,  both  of  form  and  heart,  ere  the  first  frail  and 
delicate  freshness  of  either  is  brushed  away :  and  when  even 
love  itself,  the  only  unquiet  visitant  that  should  be  known  at 
such  an  age,  is  but  a  sentiment,  and  not  a  passion ! 

"Benedetta!"  murmured  Irene,  at  length  opening  her  eyes, 
unconsciously,  upon  him  who  knelt  beside  her,  eyes  of  that 
uncertain,  that  most  liquid  hue,  on  which  you  might  gaze  for 
years  and  never  learn  the  secret  of  the  color,  so  changed  it 
tviththe  dilating  pupil,  darkening  m  the  shade,  and  brightening 
into  azure  in  the  light : 

"Benedetta,"  said  Irene,  "  where  art  thou  ?  Oh,  Benedettal 
I  have  had  such  a  dream." 

"And  I  too  such  a  vision  !  "  thought  Adrian. 

"Where  am  I?"  cried  Irene,  rising  from  the  couch.  "This 
room — these  hangings  !  Holy  Virgin  !  do' I  dream  still )  And 
you  !     Heavens  !  it  is  the  Lord  Adrian  di  Castello  !  " 

"Is  that  a  name  thou  hast  been  taught  to  fear.^"  said 
Adrian  ;  "if  so,  I  will  forswear  it." 

If  Irene  now  blushed  deeply,  it  was  not  in  that  wild  delighj 
with  which  her  romantic  heart  might  have  foretold  that  she 
would  listen  to  the  first  words  of  homage  from  Adrian  di  Cas- 
tello. Bewildered  and  confused,  terrified  at  the  strangeness  of 
the  place,  and  shrinking  even  from  tlie  thought  of  finding  her- 
self alone  with  one  v/ho  for  years  had  been  present  to  her 
fancies,  alarm  and  distre^^s  were  the  emotions  she  felt  the  most, 
and  which  most  were  impressed  upon  her  speaking  countenance  ; 
and  as  Adrian  now  drew  near  to  her,  despite  the  gentleness  of 
bis  voice  ancj  t\\Q   respect    ^f   his   looks,  her  fears,  not  the  less 


58  RIENZI, 

Strong  that  they  were  vague,  increased  upon  her  :  she  retreated 
to  the  further  end  of  the  room,  looked  wildly  round  her,  and 
then  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  burst  into  a  paroxysm 
of  tears. 

Moved  himself  by  these  tears,  and  divining  her  thoughts, 
Adrian  forgot  for  a  moment  all  the  more  darmg  wishes  he  had 
formed. 

"Fear  not,  sweet  lady,"  said  he  earnestly:  **  recollect  thy- 
self, I  beseech  thee  :  no  peril,  no  evil,  can  reach  thee  here  :  it 
was  this  hand  that  saved  thee  from  the  outrage  of  the  Orsini  ; 
this  roof  is  but  the  shelter  of  a  friend  !  Tell  me,  then,  fair 
wonder,  thy  name  and  residence,  and  I  will  summon  my  servi- 
tors, and  guard  thee  to  thy  home  at  once." 

Perhaps  the  relief  of  tears,  even  more  than  Adrian's  words, 
restored  Irene  to  herself,  and  enabled  her  to  comprehend  her 
novel  situation  ;  and  as  her  senses,  thus  cleared,  told  her  what 
she  owed  to  him  whom  her  dreams  had  so  long  imagined  as  the 
ideal  of  all  excellence,  she  recovered  her  self-possession,  and 
uttered  her  thanks  with  a  grace  not  the  less  winning,  if  it  still 
partook  of  embarrassment, 

*' Thank  me  not,"  answered  Adrian  passionately.  "I  have 
touched  thy  hand — I  am  repaid.  Repaid  !  nay,  all  gratitude, 
all  homage  is  for  me  to  render  ! " 

Blushing  again,  but  with  far  different  emotions  than  before, 
Irene,  after  a  momentary  pause,  replied,  "  Yet,  my  lord,  I  must 
consider  it  a  debt  the  more  weighty  that  you  speak  of  it  so 
lightly.  And  now,  complete  the  obligation.  I  do  not  see  my 
companion  ;  suffer  her  to  accompany  me  home  ;  it  is  but  a 
short  way  hence." 

"Blessed,  then,  is  the  air  that  I  have  breathed  so  uncon- 
sciously !  "  said  Adrian.  "  But  thy  companion,  dear  lady,  is  not 
here.  She  fled,  I  imagine,  in  the  confusion  of  the  conflict ;  and 
not  knowing  thy  name,  nor  being  able,  in  thy  then  state,  to 
iearn  it  from  thy  lips,  it  was  my  happy  necessity  to  convey  thee 
hither;  but  I  will  be  thy  companion.  Nay,  why  that  timid 
glance  ?     My  people,  also,  shall  attend  us." 

"My  thanks,  noble  lord,  are  of  little  worth  ;  my  brother,  who 
is  not  unknown  to  thee,  will  thank  thee  more  fittingly.  May  I 
depart  ? "  and  Irene,  as  she  spoke,  was  already  at  the  door. 

"Art  thou  so  eager  to  leave  me?  "answered  Adrian  sadly. 

"  Alas  !  when  thou  hast  departed  from  my  eyes,  it  will  seem  as 

if  the  moon  had  left  the  night !     But  it  is  happiness  to  obey  thy 

wishes,  even  though  they  tear  thee  from  me." 

A  slight  smile  parted  Irene's  lips^  and  Adrian's  heart  beat 


THE  LAST  Oe-  THE  TRIBUNES.  $9 

audibly  to  himself,  as  he  drew  from  that  smile,  and  those  down- 
cast eyes,  no  unfavorable  omen. 

Reluctantly  and  slowly  he  turned  towards  the  door,  and  sum- 
moned his  attendants.  "But,"  said  he,  as  they  stood  on  the 
lofty  staircase,  "  thou  sayest,  sweet  lady,  that  thy  brother's 
name  is  not  unknown  to  me.  Heaven  grant  that  he  be,  indeed, 
a  friend  of  the  Colonna  !  " 

"  His  boast,"  answered  Irene  evasively  ;  "  the  boast  of  Cola 
di  Rienzi  is,  to  be  a  friend  to  the  friends  of  Rome.'* 

"  Holy  Virgin  of  Ara  Coeli  !  is  thy  brother  that  extraordinary 
man  ?  "  exclaimed  Adrian,  as  he  foresaw,  at  the  mention  of  that 
name,  a  barrier  to  his  sudden  passion.  "  Alas  !  in  a  Colonna, 
in  a  noble,  he  will  see  no  merit ;  even  though  thy  fortunate 
deliverer,  sweet  maiden,  sought  to  be  his  early  friend  !  " 

**  Thou  wrongest  him  much,  my  lord,"  returned  Irene 
warmly  ;  **  he  is  a  man  above  all  others  to  sympathize  with  thy 
generous  valor,  even  had  it  been  exerted  in  defence  of  the  hum- 
blest woman  in  Rome, — how  much  more,  then,  when  in  pro- 
tection of  his  sister  !  " 

**The  times  are,  indeed,  diseased,"  answered  Adrian  thought- 
fully, as  they  now  found  themselves  in  the  open  street,  "when 
men  who  alike  mourn  for  the  woes  of  their  country  are  yet  sus- 
picious of  each  other  ;  when  to  be  a  patrician  is  to  be  regarded 
as  an  enemy  to  the  people  ;  when  to  be  termed  the  friend  of  the 
people  is  to  be  considered  a  foe  to  the  patricians ;  but  come 
what  may,  oh  !  let  me  hope,  dear  lady,  that  no  doubts,  no  divis- 
ions, shall  banish  from  f/iy  breast  one  gentle  memory  of  me  !  '* 

"  Ah  !  little,  little  do  you  know  me  !  "  began  Irene,  and 
stopped  suddenly  short. 

*'  Speak!  speak  again!  Of  what  music  has  this  envious  silence 
deprived  my  soul  !  Thou  wilt  not,  then,  forget  me  ?  And," 
continued  Adrian,  **  we  shall  meet  again?  -It  is  to  Rienzi's 
house  we  are  bound  now  ;  to-morrow  I  shall  visit  my  old  com- 
panion, to-morrow  I  shall  see  thee.     Will  it  not  be  so  ?" 

In  Irene's  silence  was  her  answer. 

"  And  as  thou  hast  told  me  thy  brother's  name,  make  it 
sweet  to  my  ear,  and  add  to  it  thine  own." 

"  They  call  me  Irene." 

**  Irene,  Irene  !  Let  me  repeat  it.  It  is  a  soft  name,  and 
dwells  upon  the  lips  as  if  loath  to  leave  them — a  fitting  name 
for  one  like  thee." 

Thus  making  his  welcome  court  to  Irene,  in  that  flowered  and 
glowing  language  which,  if  more  peculiar  to  that  age  and  to 
the  gallantry  of  the  South,  is  also  the  language  in  which  the 


60  RIENZt, 

poetry  of  youthful  passion  would,  in  all  times  and  lands,  utter 
its  rich  extravagance,  could  heart  speak  to  heart,  Adrian  con- 
veyed homeward  his  beautiful  charge,  taking,  however,  the  most 
circuitous  and  lengthened  route  ;  an  artifice  which  Irene  either 
perceived  not,  or  silently  forgave.  They  were  now  within  sight 
■)f  the  street  in  which  Rienzi  dwelt,  when  a  party  of  men,  bear- 
ing torches,  came  unexpectedly  upon  them.  It  was  the  train  of 
the  Bishop  of  Orvietto,  returning  from  the  palaceof  Martino  di 
Porto,  and  in  their  way  (accompanied  by  Rienzi)  to  that  of 
Adrian.  They  had  learned  at  the  former,  without  an  interview 
with  the  Orsini,  from  the  retainers  in  the  court  below,  the  for- 
tune of  the  conflict,  and  the  name  of  Irene's  champion  ;  and, 
despite  Adrian's  general  reputation  for  gallantry,  Rienzi  knew 
enough  of  his  character,  and  the  nobleness  of  his  temper,  to 
feel  assured  that  Irene  was  safe  in  his  protection.  Alas  !  in 
that  very  safety  to  the  person  is  often  the  most  danger  to 
the  heart.  Woman  never  so  dangerously  loves,  as  when  he 
who  loves  her,  for  her  sake,  subdues  himself. 

Clasped  to  her  brother's  breast,  Irene  bade  him  thank  her 
Oeliveier  :  and  Rienzi,  with  that  fascinating  frankness  which 
'lits  so  well  on  those  usually  reserved,  and  which  all  who 
tvould  rule  the  hearts  of  their  fellow-men  must  at  times  com- 
mand, advanced  to  the  young  Colonna,  and  poured  forth  his 
gratitude  and  praise. 

*'  We  have  been  severed  too  long,  we  must  know  each  other 
again,"  replied  Adrian.  "  I  shall  seek  thee,  ere  long,  be 
assured." 

Turning  to  take  his  leave  of  Irene,  he  conveyed  her  hand  to 
his  lips,  and  pressing  it,  as  it  dropped  from  his  clasp,  was  he 
deceived  in  thinking  that  those  delicate  fingers  lightly,  involun- 
tarily, returned  the  pressure  ? 


CHAPTER  VII. 

UPON    LOVE    AND    LOVERS. 

If  in  adopting  the  legendary  love-tale  of  Romeo  and  Juliet, 

Shakespeare  had  changed  the  scene  in  which  it  is  cast  for  a 
more  northern  clime,  we  may  doubt  whether  the  art  of  Shake- 
speare himself  could  liave  reconciled  us  at  once  to  the  sudden- 
ness and  the  strength  of  Juliet's  passion.  And,  even  as  it  is, 
perhaps  there  are  few  of  our  rational  and  sober-minded  isl- 
anders who  would  not  honestly  confess,  if  fairly   questioned, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNEb.  6l 

that  they  deem  the  romance  and  fervor  of  those  ill-starred 
lovers  of  Verona  exaggerated  and  over-drawn.  Yet,  in  Italy, 
the  picture  of  that  affection  born  of  a  night,  but ''strong  as 
death,"  is  one  to  which  the  veriest  commonplaces  of  life  would 
afford  parallels  without  number.  As  in  different  ages,  so  ir 
different  climes,  love  varies  wonderfully  in  the  shapes  it  takes 
And  even  at  this  day,  beneath  Italian  skies,  many  a  simple  gir^ 
would  feel  as  Juliet,  and  many  a  homely  gallant  would  rival 
the  extravagance  of  Romeo.  Long  suits  in  that  sunny  land, 
wherein,  as  whereof,  I  now  write,  are  unknown.  In  no  other 
land,  perhaps,  is  there  found  so  commonly  the  love  at  firs^ 
sight,  which  in  France  is  a  jest,  and  in  England  a  doubt  ;  ii 
no  other  land,  too,  is  love,  though  so  suddenly  conceived,  more 
faithfully  preserved.  That  which  is  ri»pened  in  fancy  comes  it 
once  to  passion,  yet  is  embalmed  through  all  time  by  senti- 
ment. And  this  must  be  my  and  their  excuse,  if  the  love  of 
Adrian  seem  too  prematurely  formed,  and  that  of  Irene  too 
romantically  conceived  ;  it  is  the  excuse  which  they  take  from 
the  air  and  sun,  from  the  customs  of  their  ancestors,  from  the 
soft  contagion  of  example.  But  while  they  yielded  to  the  dic- 
tates of  their  hearts,  it  was  with  a  certain  though  secret  sadness — 
a  presentiment  that  had,  perhaps,  its  charm,  though  it  was 
of  cross  and  evil.  Born  of  so  proud  a  race,  Adrian  could 
scarcely  dream  of  marriage  with  the  sister  of  a  plebeian  ;  and 
Irene,  unconscious  of  the  future  glory  of  her  brother,  could 
hardly  have  cherished  any  hope,  save  that  of  being  loved.  Yet 
these  adverse  circumstances, — which,  in  the  harder,  the  more 
prudent,  the  more  self-denying,  perhaps  the  more  virtuous 
minds,  that  are  formed  beneath  the  northern  skies,  would  have 
l3een  an  inducement  to  wrestle  against  love  so  placed — only 
contributed  to  feed  and  to  strengthen  t/ieirs  by  an  opposition 
which  has  ever  its  attraction  for  romance.  They  found  fre- 
quent, though  short,  opportunities  of  meeting,  not  quite  alone 
but  only  in  the  conniving  presence  of  Benedetta ;  sometimes  ir. 
the  public  gardens,  sometimes  amidst  the  vast  and  deserted 
ruins  by  which  the  house  of  Rienzi  was  surrounded.  They 
surrendered  themselves,  without  much  question  of  the  future, 
to  the  excitement — the  elysium — of  the  hour ;  they  lived  but 
from  day  to  day  ;  //i^tr  future  was  the  next  time  they  should 
meet ;  beyond  that  epoch,  the  very  mists  of  their  youthful  love 
closed  in  obscurity  and  shadow  which  they  sought  not  tc 
penetrate :  and  as  yet  they  had  not  arrived  at  that  period  o( 
affection  when  there  was  danger  of  their  fall  ;  their  love  had 
aot  passed  i^*f  golden  portal  where  w^ay^ri  ceases  and  Eartk 


62  RIEN2I, 

begins.  Everything  for  them  was  the'poetry,  the  vaguennes% 
the  refinement,  not  the  power,  the  concentration,  the  mortality, 
of  desire  !  The  look,  the  whisper,  the  brief  pressure  of  the 
hand, — at  most,  the  first  kisses  of  love,  rare  and  few, — these 
marked  the  human  limits  of  that  sentiment  which  filled  them 
with  a  new  life,  which  elevated  them  as  with  a  new  soul. 

The  roving  tendencies  of  Adrian  were  at  once  fixed  and 
centered  :  the  dreams  of  his  tender  mistress  had  awakened  to  a 
life,  dreaming  still,  but  "rounded  with  a  //-?////."  All  that 
earnestness,  and  energy,  and  fervor  of  emotion,  which,  in  her 
brother,  broke  forth  in  the  schemes  of  patriotism  and  the  as- 
pirations of  power,  were,  in  Irene,  softened  down  into  one  object 
of  existence,  one  concentration  of  soul, — and  that  was  love. 
Yet,  in  this  range  of  thought  and  action,  so  apparently  limited, 
there  was,  in  reality,  no  less  boundless  a  sphere  than  in  the 
wide  space  of  her  brother's  many-pathed  ambition.  Not  the 
less  had  she  the  power  and  scope  for  all  the  loftiest  capacities 
granted  to  our  clay.  Equal  was  her  enthusiasm  for  her  idol ; 
equal,  had  she  been  equally  tried,  would  have  been  her  gener- 
osity, her  devotion  ;  greater,  be  sure,  her  courage  ;  more 
inalienable  her  worship ;  more  unsullied  by  selfish  purposes 
and  sordid  views.  Time,  change,  misfortune,  ingratitude, 
would  have  left  /ler  the  same !  What  state  could  fall,  what 
liberty  decay,  if  the  zeal  of  man's  noisy  patriotism  were  as  pure 
as  the  silent  loyalty  of  a  woman's  love  ? 

In  them  everything  was  young/  The  heart  unchilled,  un« 
blighted, — that  fullness  and  luxuriance  of  life's  life  which  has 
in  it  something  of  divine.  At  that  age,  when  it  seems  as  if  we 
could  never  die,  how  deathless,  how  flushed  and  mighty  as 
with  the  youngness  of  a  god,  is  all  that  our  hearts  create  !  Our 
own  youth  is  like  that  of  the  earth  itself,  when  it  peopled  the 
woods  and  waters  with  divinities  :  when  life  ran  riot,  and  yet 
only  gave  birth  to  beauty — all  its  shapes,  of  poetry, — all  its  airs, 
the  melodies  of  Arcady  and  Olympus  !  The  Golden  Age  never 
leaves  the  world  ;  it  exists  still,  and  shall  exist,  till  love,  health, 
poetry,  are  no  more  ;  but  only  for  the  young  ! 

If  I  now  dwell,  though  but  for  a  moment,  on  this  interlude 
in  a  drama  calling  forth  more  masculine  passions  than  that  of 
love,  it  is  because  I  foresee  that  the  occasion  will  but  rarely 
recur.  If  I  linger  on  the  description  of  Irene  and  her  hidden 
affection,  rather  than  wait  for  circumstances  to  portray  them 
better  than  the  authorV  words  can,  it  is  because  I  foresee  that 
that  loving  and  lovely  image  must  continue  to  the  last  rathef 


THE  LA^T  Of  tttE  TRIBUNES.  63 

the  real  destiny  of  such  natures,  by  bolder  figures  and  more 
gorgeous  colors  ;  a  something  whose  presence  is  rather  felt  than 
seen,  and  whose  very  harmony  with  the  whole  consists  in  its 
retiring  and  subdued  repose. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   ENTHUSIASTIC    MAN    JUDGED   BY   THE   DISCREET   MAN. 

"Thou  wrongest  me,"  said  Rienzi,  warmly,  to  Adrian,  aj 
they  sat  alone,  towards  the  close  of  a  long  conference;  "  I  do 
not  play  the  part  of  a  mere  demagogue ;  I  wish  not  to  stir 
the  great  deeps  in  order  that  my  lees  of  fortune  may  rise  to  the 
surface.  So  long  have  I  brooded  over  the  past,  that  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  I  had  become  a  part  of  it — as  if  1  had  no  separate 
existence.  I  have  coined  my  whole  soul  into  one  master  pas- 
sion ;  and  its  end  is  the  restoration  of  Rome." 

"  But  by  what  means  ?  " 

**  My  lord  !  my  lord  !  there  is  but  one  way  to  restore  the 
greatness  of  a  people — it  is  an  appeal  to  the  people  themselves. 
It  is  not  in  the  power  of  princes  and  barons  to  make  a  state 
permanently  glorious ;  they  raise  themselves,  but  they  raise  not 
the  people  with  them.  All  great  regenerations  are  the  univer- 
sal movement  of  the  mass." 

"  Nay,"  answered  Adrian,  "  then  have  we  read  history  differ- 
ently. To  me,  all  great  regenerations  seem  to  have  been  the 
work  of  the  few,  and  tacitly  accepted  by  the  multitude.  But 
let  us  not  dispute  after  the  manner  of  the  schools.  Thou  sayest 
loudly  that  a  vast  crisis  is  at  hand  ;  that  the  Good  Estate 
{buono  stato)  shall  be  established.  How  t  where  are  your  arms  ? 
your  soldiers  ?  Are  the  nobles  less  stron?  than  heretofore?  is 
the  mob  more  bold,  more  constant?  Heaven  knows  that  I 
speak  not  with  the  prejudices  of  my  order  f  I  weep  fur  the  de- 
basement of  my  country  !  I  am  a  Roman,  and  in  that  name  I 
forget  that  I  am  a  noble.  But  I  tremble  at  the  storm  you  w^ould 
raise  so  hazardously  If  your  insurrection  succeed,  it  will  be 
violent :  it  will  be  purchased  by  blood — by  the  blood  of  all  the 
loftiest  names  of  Rome.  You  will  aim  at  a  second  expulsion 
of  the  Tarquins ;  but  it  will  be  more  like  a  second  proscrip- 
tion of  Sylla.  Massacres  and  disorders  never  pave  the  way  to 
peace.  If,  on  the  otiier  hand,  you  fail,  the  chains  of  Rome  are 
riveted  for  ever :  an  ineffectual  struggle  to  escape  is  but  an 
excuse  for  additional  tortures  to  the  slave." 


64  RIENZI, 

"And  what,  then,  would  the  Lord  Adrian  have  us  do  ?  "  said 
Rienzi,  with  that  peculiar  and  sarcastic  smile  which  has  before 
been  noted.  "Shall  we  wait  till  the  Colonna  and  Orsini  quar 
rel  no  more  ?  shall  we  ask  the  Colonna  for  liberty,  and  the 
Orsini  for  justice  ?  My  lord,  we  cannot  appeal  to  the  nobles 
agauist  the  nobles.  We  must  not  ask  them  to  moderate  tiicir 
power;  we  must  restore  to  ourselves  that  power.  There  niny 
be  danger  in  the  attempt,  but  we  attempt  it  amongst  the  indnu- 
ments  of  the  Forum  :  and  if  we  fall,  we  shall  perish  worthy  (jf 
our  sires  !  Ye  have  high  descent,  and  sounding  titles,  and 
wide  lands,  and  you  talk  of  your  ancestral  honors  !  We,  too, — 
we  plebeians  of  Rome, — we  have  ours  !  Our  fathers  were  free- 
men !  Where  is  our  heritage?  not  sold,  not  given  away  :  but 
stolen  from  us,  now  by  fraud,  now  by  force  ;  filched  from  us 
in  oux  sleep;  or  wrung  from  us  with  fierce  hands,  amidst  our 
cries  and  struggles.  My  lord,  we  but  ask  that  lawful  heritage 
to  be  restored  to  us  :  to  us — nay,  to  you  it  is  the  same  ;  your 
liberty,  alike,  is  gone.  Can  you  dwell  in  your  father's  house^ 
without  towers,  and  fortresses,  and  the  bought  swords  of 
bravos  ?  can  you  walk  in  the  streets  at  dark  without  armr,  anc" 
followers?  True,  j(?«,  a  noble,  may  retaliate  ;  though  zvc  daro 
not.  You,  in  your  turn,  may  terrify  and  outrage  others  ;  but 
does  license  compensate  for  liberty?  They  have  pjiven  you 
pomp  and  power,  but  the  safety  of  equal  law^s  were  a  better 
gift.  Oh,  were  I  you — were  I  Stephen  Colonna  himself — I 
should  pant,  ay,  thirstily  as  I  do  now,  for  that  free  air  which 
comes  not  through  bars  and  bulwarks  against  my  fellow-citi- 
zens, but  in  the  open  space  of  Heaven  ;  safe,  because  protected 
by  the  silent  Providence  of  Law,  and  not  by  the  lean  fears  and 
hollow-eyed  suspicions  which  are  the  comrades  of  a  hated 
power.  The  tyrant  thinks  he  is  free,  because  he  commands 
slaves  :  the  meanest  peasant  in  a  free  state  is  more  free  than  he 
is.  Oh,  my  lord,  that  you — the  brave,  the  generous,  the  en- 
'.ightened — you,  almost  alone  amidst  your  order,  in  the  knowl- 
edge that  we  had  a  country — oh,  would  that  you,  who  can 
sympathize  with  our  sufferings,  would  strike  with  us  for  their 
redress:!  " 

"Thou  wilt  war  against  Stephen  Colonna,  my  kinsman  ;  and 
though  I  have  seen  him  but  little,  nor,  truth  to  say,  esteem  him 
much,  yet  he  is  the  boast  of  our  house  ;  how  can  I  join  thee  ?" 

"  His  life  will  be  safe,  his  possessions  safe,  his  rank  safe, 
v/hat  do  we  war  against  ?     His  power  to  do  wrong  to  others." 

"Should  he  discover  that  thou  hast  force  beyond  vvo**i^,  ke 
,/ould  be  less  merciful  to  ihee^^* 


THE  Last   op  THE  TrIUUNES.  ^g 

**  And  has  he  not  discovered  that  ?  Do  not  the  shouts  of  the 
people  tell  him  that  I  am  a  man  whom  he  should  fear  ?  Does 
he — the  cautious,  the  wily,  the  profound — does  he  build  for- 
tresses, and  erect  towers,  and  not  see  from  his  baitlements  the 
mighty  fabric  that  I,  too,  have  erected?" 

*'  You  !  where,  Rienzi  ?  " 

"In  the  hearts  of  Rome!  Does  he  not  see?'*  continued 
Rienzi.  "No,  no;  he—all,  all  his  tribe  are  blind.  Is  i* 
not  so?" 

"  Of  a  certainty,  my  kinsman  has  no  belief  in  your  po\ver, 
else  he  would  have  crushed  you  long  ere  this.  Nay,  it  was  but 
three  days  ago  that  he  said,  gravely,  he  would  rather  you  ad- 
dressed the  populace  than  the  best  priest  in  Christendom  ;  for 
that  other  orators  inflamed  the  crowd,  and  no  man  so  stilled 
and  dispersed  them  as  you  did." 

"And  I  called  him  profound  !  Does  not  Heaven  hush  the 
air  most  when  most  it  prepares  the  storm  ?  Ay,  my  lord,  I 
understand.  Stephen  Colonna  despises  me.  I  have  been  " — 
(here,  as  he  continued,  a  deep  blush  mantled  over  his  cheek) — 
**you  remember  it — at  his  palace  in  my  younger  days,  and 
pleased  him  with  witty  tales  and  light  apophthegms.  Nay,  ha  ! 
ha  !  he  would  call  me,  I  think,  sometimes,  in  gay  compliment, 
his  jester,  his  buffoon  !  I  have  brooked  his  insult ;  I  have  even 
bowed  to  his  applause.  I  would  undergo  the  same  penance, 
stoop  to  the  same  shame,  for  the  same  motive,  and  in  the  same 
cause.  What  did  I  desire  to  effect  ?  Can  you  tell  me  ?  No  \ 
I  will  whisper  it,  then,  to  you  :  it  was — the  contempt  of  Stephen 
Colonna.  Under  that  contempt  I  was  protected,  till  protection 
became  no  longer  necessary.  I  desired  not  to  be  thought  for- 
midable by  the  patricians,  in  order  that,  quietly  and  unsus- 
pected, I  might  make  my  way  amongst  the  people.  I  have 
done  so  ;  I  now  throw  aside  the  mask.  Face  to  face  with 
Stephen  Cclonna,  I  could  tell  him,  this  very  hour,  that  I  brave 
his  anger  ;  that  I  laugh  at  his  dungeons  and  armed  men.  But 
if  he  think  me  the  same  Rienzi  as  of  old,  let  him  ;  I  can  wait 
my  hour." 

"Yet,"  said  Adrian,  waiving  an  answer  to  the  haughty  lan- 
guage of  his  companion,  "  tell  me,  what  dost  thou  ask  for  the 
people,  in  order  to  avoid  an  appeal  to  their  passions?  Ignorant 
and  capricious  as  they  are,  thou  canst  not  appeal  to  their 
reason." 

"  I  ask  full  justice  and  safety  for  all  men.    I  will  be  codtented 

/ith  no  less  a  compromise.    I  ask  the  nobles  to  dismantle  their 

fortresses  ;  to  disband  their  armed  retainer^" ;  to  acknowledge 


06  fti£:NZi, 

;io  impunity  for  crime  in  high  lineage  ;  to  claim  no  protection 
save  in  the  courts  of  the  common  law." 

"Vain  desire!"  said  Adrian.  "Ask  what  may  yet  be 
granted." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  replied  Rienzi,  laughing  bitterly,  *'  did  T  not  tell 
you  it  was  a  vain  dream  to  ask  for  law  and  justice  at  the  hands 
of  the  great?  Can  you  blame  me,  then,  that  1  ask  it  else- 
where?" Then,  suddenly  changing  his  tone  ana  manner,  he 
added  with  great  solemnity,  "  Waking  life  hath  false  and  vain 
dreams  ;  but  sleep  is  sometimes  a  mighty  prophet.  By  sleep 
it  is  that  Heaven  mysteriously  communes  with  its  creatures, 
and  guides  and  sustains  its  earthly  agents  in  the  path  to  which 
its  providence  leads  them  on." 

Adrian  made  no  reply.  This  was  not  the  first  time  he  had 
noted  that  Rienzi's  strong  intellect  was  conjoined  with  a  deep 
and  mystical  superstition.  And  this  yet  more  inclined  the 
young  noble,  who,  though  sufficiently  devout,  yielded  but  little 
to  the  wilder  credulities  of  the  time,  to  doubt  the  success  of 
the  schemer's  projects.  In  this  he  erred  greatly,  though  his 
error  was  th?t  of  the  worldly  wise.  For  nothing  ever  so  inspires 
human  daring  as  the  fond  belief  that  it  is  the  agent  of  a  Di- 
viner Wisdom.  Revenge  and  patriotism,  united  in  one  man  of 
genius  and  ambition — such  are  the  Archimedian  levers,  that 
find,  in  fanaticism,  the  spot  out  of  the  world  by  which  to 
move  the  world.  The  prudent  man  may  direct  a  state ;  but  it 
is  the  enthusiast  who  regenerates  it, — or  ruins. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

*'WHEN   THE    PEOPLE    SAW    THIS    PICTURE,  EVERY    ONE    MAR% 

VELLED.*' 

Before  the  market-place,  and  at  the  foot  of  the  Capitol,  an 
immense  crowd  was  assembled.  Each  man  sought  to  push 
before  his  neighbor  ;  each  struggled  to  gain  access  to  one  par- 
ticular spot,  round  which  the  crowd  was  wedged  thick  and 
dense. 

"Corpo  di  Dio  !  "  said  a  man  of  huge  stature,  pressing  on» 
ward,  like  some  bulky  ship,  casting  the  noisy  waves  right  and 
left  from  its  prow,  "  this  is  hot  work  ;  but  for  what,  in  the  holy 
Mother's  name,  do  ye  crowd  so  ?  See  you  not,  Sir  Ribald,  that 
sny  right  arm  is  disabled,  swathed,  and  bandaged,  so  that  I  can- 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    TRIBUNES.  6f 

not  help  myself  better  than  a  baby  !  and  yet  you  push  against 
me  as  if  I  were  an  old  wall  !  " 

*'  Ah,  Cecco  del  Vecchio  !  What,  man !  we  must  make  way 
for  you  ;  you  are  too  small  and  tender  to  bustle  through  a 
crowd !  Come,  I  will  protect  you  ! "  said  a  dwarf  of  some 
four  feet  high,  glancing  up  at  the  giant. 

"Faith,"  said  the  grim  smith,  looking  round  on  the  mob 
who  laughed  loud  at  the  dwarf's  proffer,  "we  all  do  want  pro- 
tection, big  and  small.     What  do  you  laugh  for,  ye  apes  .^    Ay 
you  don't  understand  parables." 

"  And  yet  it  is  a  parable  we  are  come  to  gaze  upon,"  said 
one  of  the  mob,  with  a  slight  sneer. 

"Pleasant  day  to  you,  Signor  Baroncelli,"  answered  Cecco 
del  Vecchio  ;  you  are  a  good  man,  and  love  the  people  ;  it 
make's  one's  heart  smile  to  see  you.  What's  all  this  pother 
for.?" 

"Why,  the  Pope's  Notary  hath  set  up  a  great  picture  in  the 
market-place,  and  the  gapers  say  it  relates  to  Rome  ;  so  they 
are  melting  their  brains  out,  this  hot  day,  to  guess  at  the 
riddle." 

"Ho  !  ho  !  "  said  the  smith,  pushing  on  so  vigorously  that 
he  left  the  speaker  suddenly  in  the  rear  ;  "if  Cola  di  Rienzi 
hath  aught  in  the  matter,  I  would  break  through  stone  rocks 
to  get  to  it." 

"  Much  good  will  a  dead  daub  do  us,"  said  Baroncelli  sourly, 
and  turning  to  his  neighbors ;  but  no  man  listened  to  him,  and 
he,  a  would-be  demagogue,  gnawed  his  lip  in  envy. 

Amidst  half-awed  groans  and  curses  from  the  men  whom  he 
jostled  aside,  and  open  objurgations  and  shrill  cries  from  the 
women,  to  whose  robes  and  head-gear  he  showed  as  little  re- 
spect, the  sturdy  smith  won  his  way  to  a  space  fenced  round 
by  chains,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  placed  a  huge  picture. 

"  How  came  it  hither?"  cried  one ;  "  I  was  first  at  the  mar- 
ket." 

"We  found  it  here  at  daybreak,"  said  a  vender  of  fruiii: 
**  no  one  was  by." 

"  But  why  do  you  fancy  Rienzi  had  a  hand  in  it?" 

"Why,  who  else  could  ?"  answered  twenty  voices. 

"True!  Who  else!"  echoed  the  gaunt  smith.  "I  dare 
be  sworn  the  good  man  spent  the  whole  night  in  painting  it 
himself.  Blood  of  St.  Peter !  but  it  is  mighty  fine  !  What  is 
it  about  !  " 

"That's  the  riddle,"  said  a  meditative  fi*.h-womaii;  **if  I 
could  mak«  k  out  I  J$houldi  4it  h^ppy/* 


58  RIENZI, 

'•^It  is  something  about  liberty  and  taxes,  no  doubt,"  saij 
Luigi,  the  butcher,  leanin^^  over  the  chains.  '""Ah,  if  Rienzi 
were  minded,  every  poor  man  would  have  his  bit  of  meat  ilk 
his  pot/' 

"  And  ns  much  bread  as  he  could  eat,"  added  p.  pale  baker. 

^'^Chut!  bread  and  meat;  everybody  has  that  nov; !  But 
';vhat  wine  the  poor  folks  drink  !  One  has  no  encouragement 
(,o  take  pains  with  one's  vineyard,"  sai'^.  a  vine-dresser. 

*' Ho,  hollo!  Long  life  to  Pandulfo  di  Guido  !  make  way 
'or  master  Pandulfo  ;  he  is  a  learned  man  ;  he  is  a  friend  of  the 
l^reat  Notary's  ;  he  will  tel)  us  all  about  the  picture  i  make 
./ay,  there,  make  way." 

Slowly  and  modestly,  Pandulfo  di  Guido,  a  quiet,  wealthy 
c'lnd  honest  man  of  letters,  whom  naught  save  the  violence  of 
the  times  could  have  roused  from  his  tranquil  home,  or  his 
studious  closet,  passed  to  the  chains.  He  looked  long  and 
hard  at  the  picture,  which  was  bright  with  new  and  yet  moist 
colors,  and  exhibited  somewhat  of  the  reviving  art,  which, 
though  hard  and  harsh  in  its  features,  was  about  that  time 
visible,  and,  carried  to  a  far  higher  degree,  we  yet  gaze  upon  in 
the  paintings  of  Perugino,  who  flourished  during  the  succeed- 
ing generation.  The  people  pressed  around  the  learned  man, 
with  open  mouths  ;  now  turning  their  eyes  to  the  picture,  now 
to  Pandulfo. 

*' Know  you  not,"  at  length  said  Pandulfo,  **the  easy  and 
palpable  meaning  of  this  design?  Behold  how  the  painter  has 
presented  to  you  a  vast  and  stormy  sea ;  mark  how  its 
waves — " 

"  Speak  louder  !  louder  ! "  shouted  the  impatient  crowd. 

*'  Hush  !  "  cried  those  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Pandulfo, 
''the  worthy  signor  is  perfectly  audible  !  " 

Meanwhile,  some  of  the  more  witty,  pushing  towards  a  stall 
in  the  market-place,  bore  from  it  a  rough  table,  from  which  they 
besought  Pandulfo  to  address  the  people.  The  pale  citizen, 
with  some  pain  and  shame,  for  he  was  no  practiced  spokesman, 
was  obliged  to  assent ;  but  when  he  cast  his  eyes  over  the  vast 
and  breatjiless  crowd,  his  own  deep  sympathy  with  their  cause 
inspired  and  emboldened  him.  A  light  broke  from  his  eyes  j 
his  voice  swelled  into  power  ;  and  his  head,  usually  buried  in 
his  breast,  became  erect  and  commanding  in  its  air. 

*' You  see  before  you  in  the  picture"  (he  began  again)  "a 
mighty  anr'.  tempestuous  sea  :  upon  its  waves  you  behold  five 
ships  ;  four  of  inem  are  already  wrecks^' — their  masts  are 
^rwjQfjn,  the  waves  ar«  <!l«shin^  thrQUi^b  tht  tfni  planks,  thef 


tnU   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  69 

are  past  all  aid  and  hope  :  on  each  of  these  ships  lies  the  corpse 
of  a  woman.  See  you  not,  in  the  wan  face  and  livid  limbs, 
how  faithfully  the  limner  hath  painted  the  hues  and  loathsome- 
ness of  death  ?  Below  each  of  these  ships  is  a  word  that  ap- 
ples the  metaphor  to  truth.  Yonder,  you  see  the  name  of 
Carthage ;  the  other  three  are  Troy,  Jerusalem,  and  Babylon. 
To  these  four  is  one  common  inscription:  *  To  exhaustion 
were  we  brought  by  injustice  !  *  Turn  now  your  eyes  to  the 
fiddle  of  the  sea  ;  there  you  behold  the  fifth  ship,  tossed 
iimidst  the  waves,  her  mast  broken,  her  rudder  gone,  her  sails 
shivered,  but  not  yet  a  wreck  like  the  rest,  though  she  soon  niav 
be.  On  her  deck  kneels  a  female,  clothed  in  mouining  ;  mark 
the  woe  upon  her  countenance, — how  cunningly  the  artist  has 
conveyed  its  depth  and  desolation  ;  she  stretches  out  her  arms 
in  prayer,  she  implores  your  and  Heaven's  assistance.  Mark 
now  the  superscription:  *This  is  Rome!'  Yes,  it  is  your 
country  that  addresses  you  in  this  emblem  !  " 

The  crowd  waved  to  and  fro,  and  a  deep  murmur  crept 
gathering  over  the  silence  which  they  had  hitherto  kept. 

"  Now,"  continued  Pandulfo,  *'turn  your  gaze  to  the  right  of 
the  picture,  and  you  will  behold  the  cause  of  the  tempest ;  you 
will  see  why  the  fifth  vessel  is  thus  perilled,  and  her  sisters  are 
thus  wrecked.  Mark,  four  different  kinds  of  animals,  who, 
from  their  horrid  jaws,  send  forth  the  winds  and  storms  which 
torture  and  rack  the  sea.  The  first  are  the  lions,  the  wolves, 
the  bears.  These,  the  inscription  tells  you,  are  the  lawless  and 
savage  signers  of  the  state.  The  next  are  the  dogs  and  swine  ; 
these  are  the  evil  counsellors  and  parasites.  Thirdly,  you  be- 
hold the  dragons  and  the  foxes  ;  and  these  are  false  judges  and 
notaries,  and  they  who  sell  justice.  Fourthly,  in  the  hares,  the 
goats,  the  apes,  that  assist  in  creating  the  storm,  you  perceive. 
by  the  inscription,  the  emblems  of  the  popular  thieves  and  hom- 
icides, ravishers,  and  spoliators.  Are  ye  bewildered  still,  O 
Romans  !  or  have  ye  mastered  the  riddle  of  the  picture  ?" 

Far  in  their  massive  palaces  the  Savelli  and  Orsini  heard  th^ 
echo  of  the  shouts  that  answered  the  question  of  Pandulfo. 

"Are  ye,  then,  without  hope  !  "  resumed  the  scholar,  as  the 
shout  ceased,  and  hushing,  with  the  first  sound  of  his  voice, 
the  ejaculations  and  speeches  which  each  man  had  turned  to 
utter  to  his  neighbor.  "  Are  ye  without  hope  ?  Doth  the  pic- 
ture, which  shows  your  tribulation,  promise  you  no  redemp- 
tion ?  Behold,  above  that  angry  sea,  the  heavens  open,  and  the 
majesty  of  God  descends  gloriously,  as  to  judgment  :  and,  from 
the  rays  that  surround  the  spirit  of  God  extend  two  flaming 


7C  RIENZI, 

owords,  and  on  those  swords  stand,  in  wrath,  but  in  deliverance^ 
the  two  patron  saints — the  two  mighty  guardians  of  your  city! 
People  of  Rome,  farev/ell !  the  parable  is  finished."* 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  ROUGH    SPIRIT  RAISED,   WHICH   MAY   HEREAFTER   REND   THE 

WIZARD. 

While  thus  animated  was  the  scene  around  the  Capitol, 
within  one  of  the  apartments  of  the  palace  sat  the  agent  and 
prime  cause  of  that  excitement.  In  the  company  of  his  quiet 
scribes,  Rienzi  appeared  absorbed  in  the  patient  details  of  his 
avocation.  While  the  murnmr  and  the  hum,  the  shout  and  the 
tramp,  of  multitudes  rolled  to  his  chamber,  he  seemed  not  to 
heed  them,  nor  to  rouse  himself  a  moment  from  his  task.  With 
the  unbroken  regularity  of  an  automaton  he  continued  to  enter 
in  his  large  book,  and  with  the  clear  and  beautiful  characters 
of  the  period,  those  damning  figures  which  taught  him,  better 
than  declamations,  the  frauds  practiced  on  the  people,  and 
armed  him  with  that  weapon  of  plain  fact  which  it  is  so  difficult 
for  abuse  to  parry. 

"  Page  2,  Vol.  B.,"  said  he,  in  the  tranquil  voice  of  business, 
to  the  clerks  ;  *'  see  there,  the  profits  of  the  salt  duty  ;  depart- 
ment No.  3 — very  well.  Page  9,  Vol.  D.;  what  is  the  account 
rendered  by  Vescobaldi  the  collector  ?  What !  twelve  thou- 
sand florins  ?  no  more  !  Unconscionable  rascal  !"  (Here  was 
a  loud  shout  without  of  *  Pandulfo  !  long  live  Pandulfo ! ')  "  Pas- 
trucci,  my  friend,  your  head  wanders ;  you  are  listening  to  the 
Qoise  without  ;  please  to  amuse  yourself  with  the  calculation  I 
entrusted  to  you.  Santi,  what  is  the  entry  given  in  by  Antonio 
Tralli?" 

A  slight  tap  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  Pandulfo  entered. 

The  clerks  continued  their  labor,  though  they  looked  up 
hastily  at  the  pale  and  respectable  visitor,  whose  name,  to  their 
great  astonishment,  had  thus  become  a  popular  cry. 

*' Ah,  my  friend,"  said  Rienzi,  calmly  enough  in  voice,  but 
his  hands  trembled  with  ill-suppressed  emotion,  "  you  would 
speak  with  me  alone,  eh  ?  well,  well,  this  way."     Thus  saying, 

*  M.  Sismondi  attributes  to  Rienzi  a  fine  oration  at  the  showing  of  the  picture,  in  which 
he  thundered  against  the  vices  of  the  patricians.  1  he  contemporary  biographer  of  Rienzi 
3»ys  nothing  of  this  harangue.  Kut,  apparently  (since  history  has  Us  liberties  as  well  as 
fiction),  M.  Sismondi  has  thought  it  convenient  to  confound  two  occasions  very  distinct  ia 
themselves. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  7t 

Ibe  led  the  citizen  into  a  small  cabinet  in  the  rear  of  the  roonQ 
of  office,  carefully  shut  the  door,  and  then  giving  himself  up  to 
the  natural  impatience  of  his  character,  seized  Pandulfo  by  the 
hand  :  "Speak  !  "  cried  he  ;  "do  they  take  the  interpretation  ? 
have  you  made  it  plain  and  palpable  enough  ?  has  it  sunk  deep 
into  their  souls?" 

"Oh,  by  St.  Peter!  yes!  "  returned  the  citizen,  whose  spirits 
Mrere  elevated  by  his  recent  discovery  that  he,  too,  was  an 
orator — a  luxurious  pleasure  for  a  timid  man.  "  They  swal- 
lowed every  word  of  the  interpretation  ;  they  are  moved  to  the 
marrow  ;  you  might  lead  them  this  very  hour  to  battle,  and  find 
them  heroes.     As  for  the  sturdy  smith — " 

"  What !  Cecco  del  Vecchio  ?"  interrupted  Rienzi  ;  "  ah,  his 
heart  is  wrought  in  bronze  !     What  did  he  ?" 

"  Why,  he  caught  me  by  the  hem  of  my  robe  as  I  descended 
my  rostrum  (oh  !  would  you  could  have  seen  me !  per  fede  I 
had  caught  your  mantle  !  I  was  a  second/^«  .'),  and  said,  weep- 
ing like  a  child,  *  Ah,  Signor,  I  am  but  a  poor  man,  and  of 
little  worth  ;  but  if  every  drop  of  blood  in  this  body  were  a  life, 
I  would  give  it  for  my  country  ! " 

"Brave  soul,"  said  Rienzi,  with  emotion  ;  "  would  Rome  had 
but  fifty  such  !  No  man  hath  done  us  more  good  among  his 
own  class  than  Cecco  del  Vecchio." 

"  They  feel  a  protection  in  his  very  size,"  said  Pandulfo. 
"It  is  something  to  hear  such  big  words  from  such  a  big 
fellow." 

"Were  there  any  voices  lifted  in  disapprobation  of  the  pic- 
ture and  its  sentiment?" 

"None." 

"The  time  is  nearly  ripe,  then;  a  few  suns  more,  and  the 
fruit  must  be  gathered.  The  Aventine, — the  Lateran, — and 
then  the  solitary  trutnpet  r*  Thus  saying,  Rienzi,  with  folded 
arms  and  downcast  eyes,  seemed  sunk  into  a  reverie. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Pandulfo,  "I  had  almost  forgot  to  tell 
thee  that  the  crowd  would  have  poured  themselves  hither,  so 
impatient  were  they  to  see  thee  ;  but  I  bade  Cecco  del  Vecchio 
mount  the  rostrum,  and  tell  them,  in  his  blunt  way,  that  it 
would  be  unseemly  at  the  present  time,  when  thou  wert  en- 
gaged in  the  Capitol  on  civil  and  holy  affairs,  to  rush  in  so 
great  a  body  into  thy  presence.     Did  I  not  right?" 

"Most  right,  my  Pandulfo." 

"  But  Cecco  del  Vecchio  says  he  must  come  and  kiss  thy 
hand;  and  tlioii  ni.iyst  expect  him  here  the  moment  he  cap 
fjscape  unobserved  iroin  tUv  crowd," 


2^  RIENZI. 

*'  He  IS  welcome  ?  '*  said  Rienzi,  half  mechanically,  for  he 
was  rjtill  absorbed  in  thought. 

**And,  lo!  here  he  is," — as  one  of  the  scribes  announced 
the  visit  of  the  smith. 

"Let  him  be  admitted  !"  said  Rienzi,  seating  himself  com- 
posedly. 

When  the  huge  smith  found  himself  in  the  presence  of 
Rienzi,  it  amused  Fandulfo  to  perceive  thj  wonderful  influ- 
nce  of  mind  over  matter.  That  fierce  and  sturdy  giant, 
who,  in  all  popular  commotions,  towered  above  his  tribe,  with 
thews  of  stone,  and  nerves  of  iron,  the  rallying-point  and 
bulwark  of  the  rest,  stood  now  coloring  and  trembling  before 
the  intellect,  which  (so  had  the  eloquent  spirit  of  Rienzi  waked 
and  fanned  the  spark  which,  till  then,  had  lain  dormant  in  that 
rough  bosom)  might  almost  be  said  to  have  created  his  own. 
And  he,  indeed,  who  first  arouses  in  the  bondsman  the  sense 
rind  soul  of  freedom,  comes  as  near  as  is  permitted  to  man, 
nearer  than  the  philosopher,  nearer  even  than  the  poet,  to  the 
;;reat  creative  attribute  of  God  !  But,  if  the  breast  bo  unedu- 
cated, the  gift  may  curse  the  giver  ;  and  he  who  passes  at  once 
from  ihe  slave  to  the  freeman  may  pass  as  rapidly  from  the 
freeman  to  the  ruffian. 

*'  Approach;  my  friend,"  said  Rienzi,  after  a  moment's  pause  ; 
"I  know  all  that  thou  hast  done,  and  wouldst  do,  for  Rome  ! 
Thou  art  worthy  of  her  best  days,  and  thou  art  born  to  share 
in  their  return." 

The  smith  dropped  at  the  feet  of  Rienzi,  who  held  out  his 
hand  to  .aise  him,  which  Cecco  del  Vecchio  seized,  and  rev- 
erently kissed. 

'This  kiss  does  not  betray,"   said  Rienzi,  smiling;  "but 
Ise,  my  friend,  this  posture  is  only  due  to  God  and  his  saints  !" 

''  He  is  a   saint  who   helps  us  at  need  ! "    said   the  smith 

luntly,  "and  that  no  man  has  done  as  thou  hast.     But  when," 

\e  aaded,  sinking  his  voice  and  fixing  his  eyes  hard  on  Rienzi, 

s     ne   may   do   who  waits  a  signal  to  strike  a  blow,  "when — 

hen  shall  wc  make  the  great  effort?" 

Thou   hast  spoken  to  all  the  brave  men  in  thy  neighbor- 
hood ;  are  they  well  prepared?" 

*' To  livj  or  die,  as  Rienzi  bids  them  !'* 

**I  must  have  the  list — the  number — names — houses  and 
callings,  uiis  light." 

"Thourhait." 

*' ""  ich    lan  must  sign  his  name  oi  mark  with  his  own  hand,* 

".:t  .hall  .;edone." 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  ^3 

"Then,  harkye  !  attend  Pandulfo  di  Guido  at  his  house  this 
evening,  at  sunset.  He  shall  instruct  thee  where  to  meet  this 
night  some  brave  hearts  ;  thou  art  worthy  to  be  ranked  amongst 
them.     Thou  wilt  not  fail !  " 

"By  the  holy  Stairs  !  I  will  count  every  minute  till  then," 
said  the  smith,  his  swarthy  face  lighted  with  pride  at  the 
confidence  shown  him. 

"  Meanwhile,  watch  all  your  neighbors ;  let  no  man  flag  or 
grow  faint-hearted ;  none  of  thy  friends  must  be  branded  as  a 
traitor." 

*'  I  will  cut  his  throat,  were  he  my  own  mother's  son,  if  I 
find  one  pledged  man  flinch  !  "  said  the  fierce  smith. 

"Ha,  ha!"  rejoined  Rienzi,  with  that  strange  laugh  which 
belonged  to  him  ;  '*a  miracle  !  a  miracle  !  The  Picture  speaks 
now  ! " 

It  was  already  nearly  dusk  when  Rienzi  left  the  Capitol. 
The  broad  space  before  its  walls  was  empty  and  deserted,  and 
wrapping  his  mantle  closely  round  him,  he  walked  musingly  on. 

*'l  have  almost  climbed  the  height,"  thought  he,  *'and  now 
the  precipice  yawns  before  me.  If  I  fail,  what  a  fall  !  The 
last  hope  of  my  country  falls  with  me.  Never  will  a  noble 
rise  against  nobles.  Never  will  another  plebeian  have  the  op- 
portunities and  the  power  that  I  have  !  Rome  is  bound  up 
with  me — with  a  single  life.  The  liberties  of  all  time  are  fixed 
to  a  reed  that  a  wind  may  uproot.  But  oh,  Providence  !  hast 
thou  not  reserved  and  marked  me  for  great  deeds  ?  How, 
step  by  step,  have  I  been  led  on  to  this  solemn  enterprise  ! 
How  has  each  hour  prepared  its  successor  !  And  yet  what 
danger  !  if  the  inconstant  people,  made  cowardly  by  long 
thraldom,  do  but  waver  in  the  crisis,  I  am  swept  away  ! " 

As  he  spoke,  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  lo,  before  him,  the  first 
Star  of  twilight  shone  calmly  down  upon  the  crumbling  rem- 
.  an'3  of  the  Tarpeian  Rock.  It  was  no  favoring  omen,  and 
Rienzi'"  heart  beat  quicker  as  that  dark  and  ruined  mass 
frowned  thus  suddenly  on  his  gaze. 

"Dread  monument,"  thought  he,  "of  what  dark  catastrophes, 
t  what  unknown  schemes,  hast  thou  been  the  witness  !  To 
ho^v  many  enterprises,  on  which  history  io  dumb,  hast  thou  set 
the  seal  ;  How  know  we  whether  they  were  criminal  or  just.? 
Hov/  know  we  whether  he,  thus  doomed  as  a  traitor,  would 
not,  if  successful,  be  immortalized  as  a  deliverer  ?  If  I  fall, 
who  will  write  my  chronicle  ?  One  of  the  people  ?  alas ! 
blinded  and  ignorant,  they  furnish  forth  no  minds  that  can 
appeal  to  posterity.     One  of  tho  patricians  1   in  v/hat  colore 


;4  RIENZI, 

then  shall  I  be  painted  !     No  tomb  will  rise  for  me  amidst  the 
wrecks  ;  no  hand  scatter  flowers  upon  my  grave  ! " 

Thus  meditating  on  the  verge  of  that  mighty  enterprise  to 
which  he  had  devoted  himself,  Rienzi  pursued  his  way.  He 
gained  the  Tiber,  and  paused  for  a  few  moments  beside  its 
legendary  stream,  over  which  the  purple  and  star-lit  heaven 
shone  deeply  down.  He  crossed  the  bridge  which  leads  to 
the  quarter  of  the  Trastevere,  whose  haughty  inhabitants  yet 
boast  themselves  the  sole  true  descendants  of  the  ancient 
Romans.  Here  his  step  grew  quicker  and  more  light ;  brighter, 
if  less  solemn,  thoughts  crowded  upon  his  breast ;  and  ambi- 
tion, lulled  for  a  moment,  left  his  strained  and  over-labored 
mind  to  the  reign  of  a  softer  passion. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

2IINA     DI     RASELLI. 

^*I  TELL  you,  Lucia,  I  do  not  love  those  stuffs  ;  they  do  not 
become  me.  Saw  you  ever  so  poor  a  dye  ? — this  purple,  in- 
deed !  that  crimson  !  Why  did  you  let  the  man  leave  them  ? 
Let  him  take  them  elsewhere  to-morrow.  They  may  suit  the 
signoras  on  the  other  side  the  Tiber,  who  imagine  everything 
Venetian  must  be  perfect  ;  but  I,  Lucia,  /  see  with  my  own 
eyes,  and  judge  from  my  own  mind." 

"  Ah,  dear  lady,"  said  the  serving-maid,  "  if  you  were,  as  you 
doubtless  will  be,  some  time  or  other,  a  grand  signora,  how 
worthily  you  would  wear  the  honors  !  Santa  Cecilia  !  no  other 
dame  in  Rome  would  be  looked  at  while  the  Lady  Nina  were 
by  !" 

"  Would  we  not  teach  them  what  pomp  was  ? "  answered 
Nina.  "  Oh,  what  festivals  would  we  hold  !  Saw  you  not 
ircm  the  gallery  the  revels  given  last  week  by  the  Lady  Giulia 
Savelli?" 

"  Ay,  dgnora  ;  and  when  you  walked  up  the  hall  in  your  sil- 
ver and  pearl  tissue,  there  ran  such  a  murmur  through  *he 
gallery  ;  every  one  cried,  '  The  Savelli  have  entertained  an 
.ingel !  " 

'*  Pish  !  Lucia  ;  no  flattery,  girl." 

"  It  is  naked  truth,  lady.  But  that  was  a  revel,  was  itnot  f 
There  was  grandeur  !  fifty  servitors  in  scarlet  and  gold  !  "^nd 
C.|[)e  music  playing  a"   the  while.     The  minstrels  were  sent    Qt 


THE  LAST  or  THE  TRIBUNES.  )§ 

from  Bergamo.     Did  not  that  festival  please  you  ?    Ah,  I  war- 

r.zi.t  many  were  the  fine  speeches  made  to  you  that  day  !  " 

°''  Heigho !  no,  there  was  one  voice  wanting,  and  all  the 
music  was  marred.  But,  girl,  were  /  the  Lady  Giulia,  I  would 
not  have  been  contented  with  so  poor  a  revel." 

"  How,  poor  !  Why  all  the  nobles  say  it  outdid  the  proud- 
est marriage-feast  of  the  Colonna.  Nay,  a  Neapolitan  who  sat 
t^ext  me,  and  who  had  served  under  the  young  Queen  Joanna, 
■  t  her  marriage,  says  that  even  Naples  was  outshone." 

"  ThsLt  may  be.  I  know  naught  of  Naples  ;  but  I  know  what 
my  court  should  have  been,  were  I  what — what  I  am  not,  and 
may  never  be  !  The  banquet  vessels  should  have  been  of  gold  ; 
the  cups  jewelled  to  the  brim  ;  not  an  inch  of  the  rude  pave- 
ment should  have  been  visible  ;  all  should  have  glowed  with 
cloth  of  gold.  The  fountain  in  the  court  should  have  showered 
up  the  perfumes  of  the  East ;  my  pages  should  not  have  been 
rough  youths,  blushing  at  their  own  uncouthness,  but  fair  boys, 
who  had  not  told  their  twelfth  year,  culled  from  the  daintiest 
palaces  of  Rome  ;  and,  as  for  the  music,  oh,  Lucia !  each 
musician  should  have  worn  a  chaplet,  and  deserved  it  ;  and  he 
who  played  best  should  have  had  a  reward  to  inspire  all  the 
rest — a  rose  from  me.  Saw  you,  too,  the  Lady  Giulia's  robe  ? 
What  colors  !  they  might  have  put  out  the  sun  at  noonday  / 
yellow,  and  blue,  and  orange,  and  scarlet !  Oh,  sweet  Saints  I 
but  my  eyes  ached  all  the  next  day  !  " 

"  Doubtless,  the  Lady  Giulia  lacks  your  skill  in  the  mixture 
Vf  colors,"  said  the  complaisant  waiting-woman. 

"And  then,  too,  what  a  mien  !  no  royalty  in  it  !  She  moved 
along  the  hall,  so  that  her  train  well-nigh  tripped  her  every 
moment ;  and  then  she  said,  with  a  foolish  laugh,  'These  holy 
day  robes  are  but  troublesome  luxuries.'  Troth,  for  the  great 
<here  should  be  no  holyday  robes ;  'tis  for  myself,  not  for 
others,  that  i  would  attire !  Every  day  should  have  its  new 
i:obe,  more  gorgeous  than  the  last — every  day  should  be  a 
iioiyday  I  " 

*'  Methought,"  said  Lucia,  "  that  the  Lord  Giovanni  Orsini 
seemed  very  devoted  to  my  lady." 

"He  !  the  bear!" 

"  Bear,  he  may  be  !  but  he  has  a  costly  skin.  His  riches 
are  untold." 

"  And  the  fool  knows  not  how  to  spend  them." 

"Was  not  that  the  young  Lord  Adrian  who  spoke  to  you  just 
by  the  column  s,  where  the  music  played  ?  " 

"It  might  be,— I  forget." 


y6  RiEN21, 

"  Yet,  I  hear  that  few  ladies  forget  when  Lord  Adrian  di 
Castello  woos  them." 

"  There  was  but  one  man  whose  company  seemed  to  me 
worth  the  recollection,"  answered  Nina,  unheeding  the  insinu- 
rXion  of  the  artful  handmaid. 

"  And  who  was  he  ?  "  asked  Lucia. 

'*  The  old  scholar  from  Avignon  !  " 

'  What  !  he  with  the  gray  beard  ?     Oh,  Signora  !  " 

*'  Yes,"  said  Nina,  with  a  grave  and  sad  voice  ;  *'  when  ne 
:;poke,  the  scene  vanished  from  my  eyes,  for  he  spoke  to  me  ot 
Him  !  " 

As  she  said  this,  the  Signora  sighed  deeply,  and  the  tears 
gathered  to  her  eyes. 

The  waiting-woman  raised  her  lips  in  disdain,  and  her  looks 
in  wonder  ;  but  she  did  not  dare  to  venture  a  reply. 

*'  Open  the  lattice,"  said  Nina,  after  a  pause,  "  and  give  me 
yon  paper.  Not  that,  girl,  but  the  verses  sent  me  yesterday. 
What  !  art  thou  Italian,  and  dost  thou  not  know,  by  instinct, 
that  I  spoke  of  the  rhyme  of  Petrarch  ?  " 

Seated  by  the  open  casement,  through  which  the  moonlight 
stole  soft  and  sheen,  with  one  lamp  beside  her,  from  which  she 
seemed  to  shade  her  eyes,  though  in  reality  she  sought  to  hide 
her  countenance  from  Lucia,  the  young  Signora  appeared  ab- 
sorbed in  one  of  those  tender  sonnets  which  then  turned  the 
brains  and  inflamed  the  hearts  of  Italy.* 

Born  of  an  impoverished  house,  which,  though  boasting  its 
descent  from  a  consular  race  of  Rome,  scarcely  at  that  day 
maintained  a  rank  amongst  the  inferior  order  of  nobility,  Nina 
di  Raselli  was  the  spoiled  child — the  idol  and  the  tyrant — of 
!'ier  parents.  The  energetic  and  self-willed  character  of  her 
mnd  made  her  rule  v/here  she  should  have  obeyed  ;  and  as  in 
"il  r^ges  dispositions  can  conquer  custom,  she  had,  though  in  a 
.:lime  and  land  where  the  young  and  unmarried  of  her  sex  are 
(sually  chained  and  fettered,  assumed,  and  by  assuming  won, 
•he  prerogative  of  independence.  She  possessed,  :t  is  true, 
more  learning  and  more  genius  than  generally  fell  to  the  shar^- 
of  women  in  that  day  ;  and  enough  of  both  to  be  deemed  a 
miracle  by  her  parents  ;  she  had,  also,  what  they  valued  more, 
a  surpassing  beauty  ;  and,  what  they  feared  more,  an  indomi- 
table haughtiness — a  haughtiness  mixed  with  a  thousand  soft 

*  Although  it  is  true  that  the  love  sonnets  of  Petrarch  were  not  then,  as  now,  the  moi'; 
esteemed  of  his  works,  yet  it  has  been  a  great,  though  a  common  error,  to  represent  them 
as  little  known  and  coldly  admired.  Their  effect  was.  in  reality,  prodigious  and  universal. 
Every  ballad-singer  sung  them  in  the  streets,  and  (says  Filippo  VilJani),  "  Gravissimi 
OCSCiAant  abstinerc  "— "  Even  the  gravest  could  not  abstain  from  them." 


THE    LAST    ui     THE    TRIBUNES.  J^ 

and  endearing  qualities  where  che  loved  ;  and  which,  indeed, 
where  she  loved,  seemed  to  vanish.  At  once  vain  yet  high- 
minded,  resolute  yet  impassioned,  there  was  a  gorgeous  mag- 
nificence in  her  very  vanity  and  splendor,  an  ideality  in  her 
/waywardness :  her  defects  made  a  part  of  her  brilliancy ; 
./ithout  them  she  v/ould  have  seemed  less  woman  ;  and,  knoV' 
r.ig  her^  you  would  have  compared  all  women  by  her  standard, 
oofter  qualities  beside  her  seemed  not  more  charming,  but 
..n ore  insipid.  She  had  no  vulgar  ambition,  for  she  had  ob 
■:Jnately  refused  many  alliances  v/hich  the  daughter  of  Raselli 
could  scarcely  have  hoped  to  form.  The  untutored  minds  and 
cavage  power  of  the  Roman  nobles  seemed  to  her  imaginations 
which  was  full  o(  the  poetry  of  rank,  its  luxury,  and  its  graces, 
as  something  barbarous  and  revolting,  at  once  to  be  dreaded 
and  despised.  She  had,  therefore,  passed  her  twentieth  year 
unmarried,  but  not  without  love.  The  faults,  themselves,  of 
her  character,  elevated  that  ideal  of  love  which  she  had  formed. 
She  required  some  being  round  whom  all  her  vainer  qualities 
could  rally  ;  she  felt  that  where  she  loved  she  must  adore  ;  she 
demanded  no  common  idol  before  which  to  humble  so  strong 
and  imperious  a  mind.  Unlike  women  of  a  gentler  mould,  who 
desire,  for  a  short  period,  to  exercise  the  caprices  of  sweet  em- 
pire, when  she  loved  she  must  cease  to  command  ;  and  pride, 
at  once,  be  humbled  to  devotion.  So  rare  were  the  qualities 
Chat  could  attract  her  ;  so  imperiously  did  her  haughtiness  re- 
quire that  those  qualities  should  be  above  her  own,  yet  of  the 
same  order  ;  that  her  love  elevated  its  object  like  a  god. 
Accustomed  to  despise,  she  felt  all  the  luxury  it  is  to  venerate  ! 
.'^i.nd  if  it  were  her  lot  to  be  united  with  one  thus  loved,  her 
iature  was  that  which  might  become  elevated  by  the  nature 
•hat  it  gazed  on.  For  her  beauty — Reader,  shouldst  thou  ever 
lo  to  Rome,  thou  wilt  see  in  the  Capitol  the  picture  of  the 
Oumasan  Sibyl,  which,  often  copied,  no  copy  can  even  faintly 
represent.  I  beseech  thee,  mistake  not  this  sibyl  for  another, 
/or  the  Roman  galleries  abound  in  sibyls.*  The  sibyl  I  speak 
of  is  dark,  and  the  face  has  an  Eastern  cast :  the  robe  and 
wUrban,  gorgeous  though  they  be,  grow  dim  before  the  rich,  but 
transparent,  roses  of  the  cheek  ;  the  hair  would  be  black,  save 
for  that  golden  glow  which  mellows  it  to  a  hue  and  lustre  never 
reen  but  in  the  South,  and  even  in  the  South  most  rare  ;  the 
features,  not  Grecian,  are  yet  faultless ;  the  mouth,  the  brow, 

•'  The  sibyl    re'cfred  to  is  the   well-kPov/n   one  b/  Domenichino.     As  a  tnere  work  08 
crt,  that  by  Guercino,  called  the  Persian  sibyl,  in  the  e9.fne  collcctien.  is  i>»rhq.n6  superior^ 


'^S  RIENZI, 

the  ripe  and  exquisite  contour,  all  are  human  and  voluptuous; 
the  expression,  the  aspect,  is  something  more  ;  the  form  is, 
perhaps,  too  full  for  the  perfection  of  loveliness,  for  the  pro- 
portions of  sculpture,  for  the  delicacy  of  Athenian  models  ;  but 
the  luxuriant  fault  has  a  majesty.  Gaze  long  upon  that  picture  ; 
it  charms,  yet  commands  the  eye.  While  you  gaze,  you  call 
back  five  centuries.  You  see  before  you  the  breathing  image 
of  Nina  di  Raselli ! 

But  it  was  not  those  ingenious  and  elaborate  conceits  in 
which  Petrarch,  great  poet  though  he  be,  has  so  often  mistaken 
pedantry  for  passion,  that  absorbed  at  that  moment  the  atten- 
tion of  the  beautiful  Nina.  Her  eyes  rested  not  on  the  page, 
but  on  the  garden  that  stretched  below  the  casement.  Over 
the  old  fruit-trees  and  hanging  vines  fell  the  moonshine  :  and 
in  the  centre  of  the  green,  but  half-neglected  sward,  the  waters 
of  a  small  and  circular  fountain,  whose  perfect  proportions 
spoke  of  days  long  passed,  played  and  sparkled  in  the  starlight. 
The  scene  was  still  and  beautiful ;  but  neither  of  its  stillness 
nor  its  beauty  thought  Nina  :  towards  one,  the  gloomiest  and 
most  rugged,  spot  in  the  whole  garden,  turned  her  gaze ; 
there,  the  trees  stood  densely  massed  together,  and  shut  from 
view  the  low  but  heavy  wall  which  encircled  the  mansion  of 
Raselli.  The  boughs  on  those  trees  stirred  gently,  but  Nina 
saw  them  wave  ;  and  now  from  the  copse  emerged,  slowly  and 
cautiously,  a  solitary  figure,  whose  shadow  threw  itself,  long 
and  dark,  over  the  sward.  It  approached  the  window,  and  a 
low  voice  breathed  Nina's  name. 

"  Quick,  Lucia ! "  cried  she  breathlessly,  turning  to  her 
handmaid:  ''quick!  the  rope-ladder!  it  is  he!  he  is  come! 
How  slow  you  are  !  Haste,  girl,  he  may  be  discovered ! 
There, — O  joy, — O  joy  !    My  lover  !  my  hero  !  my  Rienzi !" 

"It  is  you  !  "  said  Rienzi,  as,  now  entering  the  chamber,  he 
wound  his  arms  around  her  half-averted  form,  "  and  what  is 
night  to  others  is  day  to  me  !  " 

The  first  sweet  moments  of  welcome  were  over;  and  Rienzi 
was  seated  at  the  feet  of  his  mistress  :  his  head  rested  on  her 
knees,  his  face  looking  up  to  hers,  their  hands  clasped  each  if 
each. 

"And  for  mc  thou  bravest  these  dangers!"  said  the  lover; 
"the  shame  of  discovery,  the  wrath  of  thy  parents  !  " 

"But  v/hat  are  my  perils  to  thine?  Oh,  Heaven!  if  my 
father  found  lliee  here  thou  wouldst  die  !  " 

"He  would  think  it  then  so  great  a  humiliation,  that  thou, 
beautiful  Nina^  wb9  mi|[hut  ma(cl)  wuh  the  hau^huest  {?am«9 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  79 

of  Rome,  shouldst  waste  thy  love  on  a  plebeian — even  though 
the  grandson  of  an  emperor  !  " 

The  proud  heart  of  Nina  could  sympathize  well  with  the 
wounded  pride  of  her  lover :  she  detected  the  soreness  which 
lurked  beneath  his  answer,  carelessly  as  it  was  uttered. 

"Hast  thou  not  told  me,"  she  said,  "of  that  great  Marius, 
who  was  no  noble,  but  from  whom  the  loftiest  Colonna  would 
.ejoice  to  claim  his  descent?  and  do  I  not  know  in  thee  one 
who  shall  yet  eclipse  the  power  of  Marius,  unsullied  by  his 
vices?" 

"  Delicious  flattery  !  sweet  prophet !  "  said  Rienzi,  with  a 
melancholy  smile  ;  "  never  were  thy  supporting  promises  of 
.he  future  more  welcome  to  me  than  now  ;  for  to  thee  I  will 
f5ay  what  I  would  utter  to  none  else  :  my  soul  half  sinks  beneath 
the  mighty  burthen  I  have  heaped  upon  it.  I  want  new 
courage  as  the  dread  hour  approaches  ;  and  from  thy  words 
r,nd  looks  I  drink  it." 

"Oh!"  answered  Nina,  blushing  as  she  spoke,  "glorious 
indeed  the  lot  which  I  have  bought  by  my  love  for  thee  : 
glorious  to  share  thy  schemes,  to  cheer  thee  in  doubt,  to 
whisper  hope  to  thee  in  danger." 

"And  give  grace  to  me  in  triumph!"  added  Rienzi 
passionately.  "  Ah  !  should  the  future  ever  place  upon  these 
brows  the  laurel-wreath  due  to  one  who  has  saved  his  country, 
what  joy,  what  recompense  to  lay  it  at  thy  feet !  Perhaps,  in 
those  long  and  solitary  hours  of  languor  and  exhaustion  which 
fill  up  the  interstices  of  time, — the  dull  space  for  sober  thought 
between  the  epochs  of  exciting  action, — perhaps  I  should  have 
failed  and  flagged,  and  renounced  even  my  dreams  for  Rome, 
had  they  not  been  linked  also  with  my  dreams  for  thee !  had  I 
not  pictured  to  myself  the  hour  when  my  fate  should  elevate 
me  beyond  my  birth  ;  when  thy  sire  would  deem  it  no  dis- 
grace to  give  thee  to  my  arms ;  when  thou,  too,  shouldst  stand 
amidst  the  dames  of  Rome,  more  honored,  as  more  beautiful, 
:han  all ;  and  when  I  should  see  that  pomp,  which  my  own 
soul  disdains,*  made  dear  and  grateful  to  me  because  asso- 
ciated with  thee  !  Yes,  it  is  these  thoughts  that  have  inspired 
me,  when  sterner  ones  have  shrunk  back  appalled  from  the 
spectres  that  surround  their  goal.  And  oh  !  my  Nina,  sacred, 
strong,  enduring  must  be,  indeed,  the  love  which  lives  in  the 
same  pure  and  elevated  air  as  that  which  sustains  my  hopes  of 
liberty  and  fame  !  " 

*  "  Quern  semper  abhorrui  sicut  cenum"  is  the  expression  used  by  Rienzi,  in  his  letter 
to  his  friend  at  Avignon,  and  which  was  probably  sincere.  Men  rarely  act  according  to 
the  bias  of  their  own  tastes. 


So  niENzi. 

This  was  the  language  v/hich,  more  even  than  the  vo\7S  of 
fidelity  and  the  dear  adulation  which  springs  from  the  heart 'g 
exuberance,  had  bound  the  proud  and  vain  soul  of  Nina  to  the 
chains  that  it  so  willingly  wore.  Perhaps,  indeed,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  Rienzi,  her  weaker  nature  pictured  to  herselt  the 
triumph '*of  humbling  the  high-born  signoras,  and  eclipsing 
he  barbarous  magnificence  of  the  chiefs  of  Rome  ;  but  in  his 
presence,  and  listening  to  his  more  elevated  and  generous  am- 
-.inon,  as  yet  all  unsullied  by  one  private  feeling  save  the  hope 
>t  her,  her  higher  sympathies  were  enlisted  with  his  schemes, 
ner  mind  aspired  to  raise  itself  to  the  height  of  his,  and  she 
vhought  less  of  her  own  rise  than  of  his  glory.  It  was  sweet 
lo  her  pride  to  be  the  sole  confidante  of  his  most  secret 
thoughts,  as  of  his  most  hardy  undertakings  ;  to  see  bared  be- 
fore her  that  intricate  and  plotting  spirit  ;  to  be  admitted  even 
to  the  knowledge  of  its  doubts  and  weakness,  as  of  its  heroism 
and  power. 

Nothing  could  be  more  contrasted  than  the  loves  of  Rienzi 
and  Nina,  and  those  of  Adrian  and  Irene  :  in  the  latter,  all 
were  the  dreams,  the  phantasies,  the  extravagance,  of  youth  :, 
they  never  talked  of  the  future  ;  they  mingled  no  other  as- 
pirations with  those  of  love.  Ambition,  glory,  the  world's- 
high  objects,  were  nothing  to  them  when  together ;  their 
love  had  swallowed  up  the  world,  and  left  nothing  visible  be- 
neath the  sun,  save  itself.  But  the  passion  of  Nina  and  /ler 
lover  was  that  of  more  complicated  natures  and  more  mature 
years  :  it  was  made  up  of  more  than  a  thousand  feelings,  each 
naturally  severed  from  each,  but  compelled  into  one  focus  by 
the  mighty  concentration  of  love  ;  their  talk  was  of  the  world  ; 
it  was  from  the  world  that  they  drew  the  aliment  which  sus- 
tained it  ;  it  was  of  the  future  they  spoke  and  thought ;  of  its 
dreams  and  imagined  glories  they  made  themselves  a  home 
and  altar ;  their  love  had  in  it  more  of  the  Intellectual  than 
that  of  Adrian  and  Irene  ;  it  was  more  fitted  for  this 
hard  earth  ;  it  had  in  it,  also,  more  of  the  leaven  of  the 
later  and  iron  days,  and  less  of  poetry  and  the  first 
golden  age. 

"And  must  thou  leave  me  now  ?  "  said  Nina,  her  cheek  nc 
more  averted  from  his  lips,  nor  her  form  from  his  parting  em- 
brace. "The  moon  is  high  yet;  it  is  but  a  little  hour  thou 
hast  given  me.  " 

"  An  hour  !  Alas  !  "  said  Rienzi,  "it  is  near  upon  midnight; 
our  friends  await  me." 

**  Go,  then,  my  soul's  best  half !  go ;  Nina  shall  not  detain 


THE   LAST    OP    THE   TRIBUNES.  8l 

thee  one  moment  from  those  higher  objects  which  make  thee 
so  dear  to  Nina.     When — when  shall  we  meet  again  ! " 

"  Not,"  said  Rienzi  proudly,  and  with  all  his  soul  upon  his 
brow,  ''not  thus,  by  stealth  !  no  !  nor  as  I  thus  have  met  thee, 
the  obscure  and  contemned  bondsman  !  When  next  thou 
ceest  me,  it  shall  be  at  the  head  of  the  sons  of  Rome  i  her 
champion !  her  restorer  !  or — "  said  he,  sinking  his  voice — 

"There  is  no  or!''  interrupted  Nina,  weaving  her  arms 
round  him,  and  catching  his  enthusiasm  ;  "  thou  hast  uttered 
thine  own  destiny  !" 

"  One  kiss  more  ! — farewell !  The  tenth  day  from  the  mor- 
row shines  upon  the  restoration  of  Rome  !  " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  STRANGE  ADVENTURES  THAT  BEFEL  WALTER  DE  MONTREAL. 

It  was  upon  that  same  evening,  and  while  the  earlier  stars 
yet  shone  over  the  city,  that  Walter  de  Montreal,  returning, 
alone,  to  the  convent  then  associated  with  the  church  of  Santa 
Maria  del  Priorata  (both  of  which  belonged  to  the  Knights  of 
the  Hospital,  and  in  the  first  of  which  Montreal  had  taken  his 
lodgment),  paused  amidst  the  ruins  and  desolation  which  lay 
around  his  path.  Though  little  skilled  in  the  classic  memories 
and  associations  of  the  spot,  he  could  not  but  be  impressed 
with  the  surrounding  witnesses  of  departed  empire ;  the  vast 
skeleton,  as  it  were,  of  the  dead  giantess. 

"Now,"  thought  he,  as  he  gazed  around  upon  the  roofless 
columns  and  shattered  walls,  everywhere  visible,  over  which 
the  starlight  shone,  ghastly  and  transparent,  backed  by  the 
frowning  and  embattled  fortresses  of  the  Frangipani,  half  hid 
by  t]  e  dark  foliage  that  sprung  up  amidst  the  very  fanes  and 
palaces  of  old — Nature  exulting  over  the  frailer  Art  ;  "now," 
thought  he,  "  bookmen  would  be  inspired  by  this  scene  with 
fantastic  and  dreaming  visions  of  the  past.  But  to  me  these 
monuments  of  high  ambition  and  royal  splendor  create  only 
images  of  the  future.  Rome  may  yet  be,  with  her  seven- 
hilled  diadem,  as  Rome  has  been  before,  the  prize  of  the 
strongest  hand  and  the  boldest  warrior, — revived,  not  by  her 
own  degenerate  sons,  but  the  infused  blood  of  a  new  race, 
William  the  Bastard  could  scarce  have  found  the  hardy  Eng- 
lishers  so  easy  a  conquest  as  Walter  the  Well-born  may  find 
these  eunuch  Romans.     And  which  conquest  were  the  more 


RIEN2I, 


glorious,  the  barbarous  isle,  or  the  Metropolis  of  the  World  ? 
Short  step  from  the  general  to  the  podesta,  sliorter  step  froiVi 
the  podesta  to  the  king  !  " 

While  thus  revolving  his  wild,  yet  not  altogetlier  chimerical, 
ambition,  n,  quick,  light  step  was  heard  amidst  the  long  herb- 
age, and,  looking  up.  Montreal  perceived  the  figure  of  a  tall 
Tcmale  descending  from  that  part  of  the  hill  then  covered  by 
fnany  convents,  towuds  th^  base  of  the  Aventine.  She  sup- 
ported her  steps  with  a  long  staft,  and  moved  with  such  elas- 
ticity and  erectness,  that  n  -w,  as  her  face  became  visible  by  the 
starlight,  it  was  surpri'^ing  to  perceive  that  it  was  the  face  of 
one  advanced  in  years — a  harsh,  proud  countenance,  withered 
and  deeply  wrinkled,  but  not  without  a  certain  regularity  o'" 
outline. 

"  Merciful  Virgin  !  "  cried  Montreal,  starting  back  as  that 
face  gleamed  upon  him  :  "  is  it  possible  ?     It  is  she  !  it  is — " 

He  sprung  forward,  and  stood  right  before  the  olc!  woman, 
who  seemed  equally  surprised,  though  more  dismayed,  at  the 
sight  of  Montreal. 

*'  I  have  sought  thee  for  years,"  said  the  Knight,  first  break- 
ing the  silence  ;  "years,  long  years;  thy  conscience  can  tell 
thee  why." 

*"'  Mine^  man  of  blood!"  cried  the  female,  trembling  with 
rage  or  fear ;  "  darest  thou  talk  of  conscience  ?  Thou^  the  dis- 
honorer— the  robber — the  professed  homicide  !  Thou,  disgrace 
to  knighthood  and  to  birth  !  Thou^  with  the  cross  of  chastity 
and  of  peace  upon  thy  breast  !  Thou  talk  of  conscience, 
hypocrite  ! — thou?  " 

"  Lady,  lady  !  "  said  Montreal  deprecatingly,  and  almost 
quailing  beneath  the  fiery  passion  of  that  feeble  woman,  **  I  have 
sinned  against  thee  and  thine.  But  remember  all  my  excuses! — 
early  love  —  fatal  obstacles  —  rash  vow — irresistible  tempta- 
tion !  Perhaps,"  he  added,  in  a  more  haughty  tone,  **  perhaps, 
yet,  I  may  have  the  power  to  atone  my  error,  and  wring,  with 
mailed  hand,  from  the  successor  of  St.  Peter,  who  hath  power 
to  loose  as  to  bind — " 

"Perjured  and  abandoned  !  "  interrupted  the  female  ;  "dost; 
thou  dream  that  violence  can  purchase  absolution,  or  that  thou 
canst  ever  atone  the  past  ? — a  noble  name  disgraced,  a  father's 
broken  heart  and  dying  curse  !  Yes,  that  curse,  I  hear  it  now  ! 
it  rings  upon  me  thrillingly,  as  when  I  watched  the  expiring 
clay  !  it  cleaves  to  thee  ;  it  pursues  thee  ;  it  shall,  pierce  thee 
through  thy  corselet  ;  it  shall  smite  thee  in  the  meridian  of  thy 
power!     Genius  wasted,  ambition  blasted,  penitence  deferred; 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  83 

a  life  of  brawls,  and  a  death  of  shame — thy  destruction  the  off- 
spring of  thy  crime  !  To  this,  to  this,  an  old  man's  curse  hath 
doomed  thee  !     And  thou  art  uoomed  !" 

These  words  were  rather  shrieked  than  spoken  :  and  the 
flashing  eye,  the  lifted  hand,  the  dilated  form  of  the  speaker  ; 
the  hour,  the  solitude  of  the  ruins  around — all  conspired  to 
give  to  the  fearful  execration  the  character  of  prophecy.  The 
warrier,  against  whose  undaunted  breast  a  hundred  spears  had 
shivered  in  vain,  fell  appalled  and  humbled  to  the  ground. 
He  seized  the  hem  of  his  fierce  denouncer's  robe,  and  cried,  in 
a  choked  and  hollow  voice,  "  Spare  me  !  spare  me  ! " 

"  Spare  thee  !  "  said  the  unrelenting  crone  ;  *'  hast  thou  ever 
spared  man  in  thy  hatred,  or  woman  in  thy  lust?  Ah,  grovel 
in  the  dust !  crouch — crouch  !  wild  beast  as  thou  art  I  whose 
sleek  skin  and  beautiful  hues  have  taught  the  unwary  to  be 
blind  to  the  talons  that  rend,  and  the  grinders  that  devour; 
crouch,  that  the  foot  of  the  old  and  impotent  may  spurn  thee  !  " 

"  Hag !  "  cried  Montreal,  in  the  reaction  of  sudden  fury  and 
maddened  pride,  springing  up  to  the  full  height  of  his  stature. 
**Hag!  thou  hast  passed  the  limits  to  which,  remembering  who 
thou  art,  my  forbearance  gave  thee  license.  I  had  well-nigh 
forgot  that  thou  hadst  assumed  my  part — /  am  the  Accuser  ! 
Woman  !  the  boy  !  shrink  not  !  equivocate  not  !  lie  not  I  thou 
wert  the  thief  !  " 

"I  was.     Thou  taughtest  me  the  lesson  how  to  steal  a — " 

"  Render — restore  him  !  "  interrupted  Montreal,  stamping 
on  the  ground  with  such  force  that  the  splinters  of  the  marble 
fragments  on  which  he  stood  shivered  under  his  armed  heel. 

The  woman  little  heeded  a  violence  at  which  the  fiercest 
warrior  of  Italy  might  have  trembled  ;  but  she  did  not  make 
an  immediate  answer.  The  character  of  her  countenance 
altered  from  passion  into  an  expression  of  grave,  intent,  and 
melancholy  thought.  At  length  she  replied  to  Montreal,  whose 
hand  had  wandered  to  his  dagger-hilt,  with  the  instinct  of  long 
habit,  whenever  enraged  or  thwarted,  rather  than  from  any 
design  of  blood  ;  which,  stern  and  vindictive  as  he  was,  he 
would  have  been  incapable  of  forming  against  any  woman, — 
much  less  against  the  one  then  before  him. 

"  Walter  de  Montreal,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  so  calm  that  it 
almost  sounded  like  that  of  compassion,  **  the  boy,  I  think, 
has  never  known  brother  or  sister :  the  only  child  of  a  once 
haughty  and  lordly  race,  on  both  sides,  though  now  on  both 
dishonored— nay,  why  so  impad^fit?  thou  wju  %^^\\  icafn  ^h« 
worst — the  boy  is  dc«4  i  "* 


84  RIENZI, 

**  Dead  !  "  repeated  Montreal,  recoiling  and  growing  pale  ; 
"dead!  No,  no — say  not  that  !  He  has  a  mother, — you  know 
t\e  has  ! — a  fond,  meekhearted,  anxious,  hoping  mother  !  No  j 
no,  he  is  not  dead  I  " 

"  Thou  canst  feel,  then,  for  r.  mother  !  "  said  the  old  woman, 
seemin^^ly  touched  by  the  tone  of  the  Provenpal.  "Yet,  be- 
think thee  ;  is  it  not  better  that  the  grave  should  save  him  from 
a  life  of  riot,  of  bloodshed,  and  crime?  Better  to  sleep  with 
God  than  to  wake  with  the  fiendc  ! " 

*'  Dead  !  "  echoed  Montreal ;  "  dead  !  the  pretty  one  ! — so 
young  !  those  eyes — the  mother's  eyes — closed  so  soon  !  " 

"  Hast  thou  aught  else  to  say?  Thy  sight  scares  my  very 
womanhood  from  my  soul  !     Let  mc  be  gone." 

"  Dead  I  May  I  believe  thee?  or  dost  thou  mock  me? 
Thou  hast  uttered  /Ay  curse,  hearken  to  my  warning  :  If  thou 
hast  lied  in  this,  thy  last  hour  shall  dismay  thee,  and  thy  death- 
bed shall  be  the  death-bed  of  despair  !  " 

*'Thy  lips,"  replied  the  female,  with  a  scornful  smile,  "are 
better  adapted  for  lewd  vows  to  unhappy  maidens,  than  for  the 
denunciations  which  sound  solemn  only  when  coming  from  the 
good.     Farewell  I  " 

"  Stay  I  inexorable  woman  !  stay !  Where  sleeps  he  ? 
Masses  shall  be  sung  !  priests  shall  pray  !  The  sins  of  the 
father  shall  not  be  visited  on  that  young  head  !  " 

"At  Florence!"  returned  the  woman  hastily.  "But  no 
stone  records  the  departed  !     The  dead   boy  had  no  name  !  " 

Waiting  for  no  further  questionings,  the  woman  now  passed 
on, — pursued  her  way  ;  and  the  long  herbage,  and  the  winding 
descent,  soon  snatched  her  ill-omened  apparition  from  the 
desolate  landscape. 

Montreal,  thus  alone,  sunk  with  a  deep  and  heavy  sigh  upon 
the  ground,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  burst  into  an 
agony  of  grief ;  his  chest  heaved,  his  whole  frame  trembled, 
and  he  wept  and  sobbed  aloud,  with  all  the  fearful  vehemence 
of  a  man  whose  passions  are  strong  and  fierce,  but  to  whom  the 
violence  of  grief  alone  is  novel  and  unfamiliar. 

He  remained  thus,  prostrate  and  unmanned,  for  a  consider- 
able time,  growing  slowly  and  gradually  more  calm  as  tears 
relieved  his  emotion  ;  and,  at  length,  rather  indulging  a  gloomy 
..everie  than  a  passionate  grief.  The  moon  was  high  and  the 
hour  late  when  he  arcr:-,  and  then  few  traces  of  the  past  ex- 
citement remained  upon  his  countenance;  for  Walter  de  Mon- 
treal wnsnot  of  that  mould  in  which  woe  can  force  asettlement, 
or  10  which  any  aifliction  can  bxia^  the  continued  r.nd  habitual 


THE   LAST   OP   THE   TRIBUNES.  S$ 

melancholy  that  darkens  those  who  feel  more  enduringly, 
though  with  emotions  less  stormy.  His  were  the  elements 
of  the  true  Franc  character,  though  carried  to  excess  :  his 
sternest  and  his  deepest  qualities  were  mingled  with  fickleness 
and  caprice  ;  his  profound  sagacity  often  frustrated  by  a 
whim  ;  his  towering  ambition  deserted  for  some  frivolous  temp- 
tation ;  and  his  elastic,  sanguine,  and  high-spirited  nature, 
faithful  only  to  the  desire  of  military  glory,  to  the  poetry  of  a 
daring  and  stormy  life,  and  to  the  susceptil^ilities  of  that  tender 
passion  without  whose  colorings  no  portrait  of  chivalry  is  com 
plete,  and  in  which  he  was  capable  of  a  sentiment,  a  tenderness, 
i'nd  a  loyal  devotion,  which  could  hardly  have  been  supposed 
compatible  with  his  reckless  levity  and  his  undisciplined 
career. 

"Well,"  said  he,  as  he  rose  slowly,  folded  his  mantle  round 
him,  and  resumed  his  way,  "  it  was  not  for  myself  I  grieved 
thus.  But  the  pang  is  past,  and  the  worst  is  known.  Now, 
then,  back  to  those  things  tliat  never  die — restless  projects  and 
daring  schemes.  That  hag's  curse  keeps  my  blood  cold  still, 
and  this  solitude  has  something  in  it  weird  and  awful.  Ha  \ 
what  sudden  light  is  that  ?  " 

The  light  which  caught  Montreal's  eye  broke  forth  almost 
like  a  star,  scarcely  larger,  indeed,  but  more  red  and  intense  in 
its  ray.  Of  itself  it  was  nothing  uncommon,  and  might  have 
shone  either  from  convent  or  cottage.  But  it  streamed  from  a 
part  of  the  Aventine  which  contained  no  habitations  of  the 
living,  but  only  the  empty  ruins  and  shattered  porticoes  of  which 
even  the  names  and  memories  of  the  ancient  inhabitants  were 
dead.  Aware  of  this,  Montreal  felt  a  slight  awe  (as  the  beam 
threw  its  steady  light  over  the  dreary  landscape) ;  for  he  was 
not  without  the  knightly  superstitions  of  the  age,  and  it  was 
now  the  witching  hour  consecrated  to  ghost  and  spirit.  Buf 
fear,  whether  of  this  world  or  the  next,  could  not  long  damn: 
the  mind  of  the  hardy  freebooter ;  and  after  a  short  hesitatiolu 
he  resolved  to  make  digression  from  his  way^  and  ascertain  the 
cause  of  the  phenomenon.  Unconsciously  the  martial  tread 
of  the  barbarian  passed  over  the  site  of  the  famed,  or  infamous, 
Temple  of  Isis,  which  had  once  witnessed  those  wildest  orgies 
commemorated  by  Juvenal ;  and  came  at  last  to  a  thick  and 
dark  copse,  from  an  opening  in  the  ^.entre  of  which  gleamed 
the  mysterious  light.  Penetrating  the  gloomy  foliage,  the  Knight 
now  found  himself  before  a  large  ruin,  gray  and  roofless,  from 
within  which  came,  indistinct  and  muffled,  the  sound  of  voices. 
^Through  a  rent  in  the  wall,  forming  a  kind  of  casement,  ai^ 


86  RlENZl. 

about  ten  feet  from  the  ground,  the  light  now  broke  over  th^ 
matted  and  rank  soil,  embedded,  as  it  were,  in  vast  masses  oi 
shade,  and  streaming  through  a  mouldering  portico  hard  at 
hand.  The  Provencal  stood,  though  he  knew  it  not,  on  the 
very  place  once  consecrated  by  the  Temple  :  the  Portico  and 
the  Library  of  Liberty  (the  first  public  library  instituted  in 
Rome).  The  wall  of  the  ruin  was  covered  with  innumerable 
creepers  and  wild  brushwood,  and  it  required  but  little  agility 
on  the  part  of  Montreal,  by  the  help  of  these,  to  raise  himself 
to  the  height  of  the  aperture,  and,  concealed  by  the  luxuriant 
foliage,  to  gaze  within.  He  saw  a  table  lighted  with  tapers,  in 
the  centre  of  which  was  a  crucifix  ;  a  dagger,  unsheathed  ;  an 
open  scroll,  which  the  event  proved  to  be  of  sacred  character  ; 
and  a  brazen  bowl.  About  a  hundred  men,  in  cloaks,  and  with 
black  vizards,  stood  motionless  around ;  and  one,  taller  than 
the  rest,  without  disguise  or  mask — whose  pale  brow  and  stern 
features  seemed  by  that  light  yet  paler  and  yet  more  stern — 
appeared  to  be  concluding  some  address  to  his  companions. 

*'  Yes,"  said  he,  "  in  the  church  of  the  Lateran  I  will  make 
the  last  appeal  to  the  people.  Supported  by  the  Vicar  of  the 
Pope,  myself  an  officer  of  the  Pontiff,  it  will  be  seen  that 
Religion  and  Liberty — the  heroes  and  the  martyrs — are  united 
in  one  cause.  After  that  time,  words  are  idle  :  action  must  be- 
gin. By  this  crucifix  I  pledge  my  faith,  on  this  blade  I  devote 
my  life,  to  the  regeneration  of  Rome  !  And  you  (then  no  need 
for  mask  or  mantle  !),  when  the  solitary  trump  is  heard,  when 
the  solitary  horseman  is  seen,  you  swear  to  rally  round  the 
standard  of  the  Republic,  and  resist — with  heart  and  hand, 
with  life  and  soul,  in  defiance  of  death,  and  in  hope  of  redemp- 
tion— the  arms  of  the  oppressor  !  " 

"  We  swear  !  we  swear  !  "  exclaimed  every  voice  :  and  crowd- 
ing toward  cross  and  weapon,  the  tapers  were  obscured  by  the 
intervening  throng,  and  Montreal  could  not  perceive  the  cere- 
mony, nor  hear  the  muttered  formula  of  the  oath  :  but  he  could 
guess  that  the  rite  then  common  to  conspiracies — and  which 
required  each  cons/trator  to  shed  some  drops  of  his  own  blood, 
in  token  that  life  itself  was  devoted  to  the  enterprise — had  not 
been  omitted,  when,  the  group  again  receding,  the  same  figure 
as  before  had  addressed  the  meeting,  holding  on  high  the  bowl 
with  both  hands, — while  from  the  left  arm,  which  was  bared, 
the  blood  weltered  slowly,  and  trickled,  drop  by  drop,  upon 
the  ground, — said,  in  a  solemn  voice  and  upturned  eyes  : 

*'  Amidst  the  ruins  of  thy  temple,  O  Liberty !  we,  Romans, 
dedicate  to  thee  this  libation  !      We,  befriended  and  inspired 


JHE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  8; 

by  no  unreal  and  fabled  idols,  but  by  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  and 
Him  who,  descending  to  earth,  appealed  not  to  emperors  and  to 
princes,  but  to  the  fisherman  and  the  peasant, — giving  to  the 
lowly  and  the  poor  the  mission  of  Revelation."  Then  turning 
suddenly  to  his  companions,  as  his  features,  singularly  varying 
in  their  character  and  expression,  brightened,  from  solemn 
awe,  into  a  martial  and  kindling  enthusiasm,  he  cried  aloud, 
*'  Death  to  the  Tyranny  !  Life  to  the  Republic  !  "  The  effect 
of  the  transition  was  startling.  Each  man,  as  by  an  involun- 
tary and  irresistible  impulse,  laid  his  hand  upon  his  sword,  as 
ne  echoed  the  sentiment  :  some,  indeed,  drew  forth  their  blades, 
as  if  for  instant  action. 

"  I  have  seen  enow  :  they  will  break  up  anon,"  said  Montreal 
io  himself :  "  and  I  would  rather  face  an  army  of  thousands, 
than  even  half  a  dozen  enthusiasts,  so  enflamed,  and  I  thus 
detected."  And,  with  this  thought  he  dropped  on  the  ground, 
and  glided  away,  as  once  again,  through  the  still  midnight  air, 
broke  upon  his  ear  the  muffled  shout,  '*  Death  to  the 
Tyranny  !    Life  to  the  Republic  ! " 


BOOK  11. 


THE  REVOLUTION. 

"Ogni  Lascivia,  ogni  male,  nulla  giustizia,  nullo  freno.  Non  c'era  piu 
remedia,  ogni  persona  periva.  Allora  Cola  di  Rienzi,"  etc. —  Fiia  di  Cola 
di  Kienzi,  lib.  i.  chap.  2. 

•'Every  kind  of  lewdness,  every  form  of  evil;  no  justice,  no  restraint. 
Remedy  there  was  none  ;  perdition  fell  on  all.  Then  Cola  di  Rienzi/'  etc. 
Life  of  Cola  di  Rienzi, 


CHAPTER  L 

•/?HE   knight   of    PROVENCE,    AND    HIS    PROPOSAL. 

It  was  nearly  noon  as  Adrian  entered  the  gates  of  the  palace 
of  Stephen  Colonna.  The  palaces  of  the  nobles  were  not  then  as 
we  see  them  now,  receptacles  for  the  immortal  canvas  of  Italian, 
and  the  imperishable  sculpture  of  Grecian,  Art ;  but  still  tq 


88  RIENZf, 

this  day  are  retained  the  massive  walls,  and  barred  windows, 
and  spacious  courts,  which  at  that  time  protected  their  rude  re- 
tainers.    High  above   the  gates  rose  a  lofty  and  solid  tower, 
whose  height  commanded  a  wide  view  of  the  mutilated  remains 
of   Rome  ;   the  gate  itself  was  adorned  and  strengthened  on 
cither  side  by  columns  of  granite,  whose  Doric  capitals  be- 
rayed  the  sacrilege  that  had  torn  them  from  one  of  the  many 
.emples  that  had  formerly  crowded  the  sacred  Foruo.     From 
he  same   spoils  came,  too,  the  vast   fragments  of   travertine* 
vhich  made  the  walls  of  the  outer  court.     So  common  at  that 
:ay  were  these  barbarous  appropriations  of  the  most  precious 
nonuments  of  art,  that  the  columns  and  domes  of  earlier  Rome 
v''ere  regarded  by  all  classes  but  as  quarries,  from  which  every 
nan  was  free  to  gather  the  materials,  whether  for  his  castle  or 
his   cottage, — a   wantonness  of  outrage   far   greater  than  the 
Goths',  to  whom  a  later  age  would  fain  have  attributed  all  the 
disgrace,  and  which,  more  perhaps  than  even  heavier  offences, 
excited  the  classical  indignation  of  Petrarch,  and  made  him 
sympathize  with  Rienzi  in  his  hopes  of  Rome.     Still  may  you 
see  the  churches  of  that,  or  even  earlier,  dates,  of  the  most 
shapeless  architecture,  built  on  the  nites,  and  from  the  marbles, 
consecrating  (rather  than  consecrated  by)  the  names  of  Venus, 
of  Jupiter,  of  Minerva.     The  palace  of  the  Prince  of  the  Orsini, 
duke  of  Gravina,  is  yet  reared  above  the  graceful  arches,  still 
visible,  of  the  theatre  of   Marcellus;   then  a  fortress  of  the 
Savelli. 

As  Adrian  passed  the  court,  a  heavy  wagon  blocked  up 
the  way,  laden  with  huge  marbles,  dug  from  the  unexhausted 
mine  of  the  Golden  House  of  Nero  ;  they  were  intended  for 
an  additional  tower,  by  which  Stephen  Colonna  proposed  yet 
more  to  strengthen  the  tasteless  and  barbarous  edifice  in 
vvhich  the  old  noble  maintained  the  dignity  of  outraging  the  law. 

The  friend  cf  Petrarch  and  the  pupil  of  Rienzi  sighed  deeply 

.iS  he  passed  this  vehicle  of  new  spoliations,  and  as  a  pillar  of 

'  uted  alabaster,  rolling  carelessly  from  the  wagon,  fell  with  a 

oud    crash  upon  the  pavement.     At    the   foot   of   the  stairs 

grouped  some  dozen  of  the  bandits  whom  the  old  Colonna  en- 

rertained  :  they  were  playing  at  dice   upon  an   ancient  tomb, 

he  clear  and  deep  inscription  on  which  (so  different  from  the 

slovenly  character  of  the  later  empire)  bespoke  it  a  memorial 

of  the  most  powerful  age  of  Rome,  and  vvhich  now  empty  even 

of  ashes,  and  upset,  served  for  a  tabic  to  these  foreign  savages, 

'nd  was  strewn,  even  at  thai  early  hour,  with   fragments  of 

♦*uat  u,ad  flasks  of  wine.     They  ixarcely  stirred,  they  scarcely 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  $9 

looked  up,  as  the  young  noble  passed  them  ;  and  their  fierce 
oaths  and  loud  ejaculations,  uttered  in  a  northern  patois^ 
grated  harsh  upon  his  ear  as  he  mounted,  with  a  slow  step, 
the  lofty  and  unclean  stairs.  He  came  into  a  vast  ante-cham- 
ber, which  was  half  filled  with  the  higher  class  of  the  patrician's 
retainers  ;  so^ne  five  or  six  pages,  chosen  from  the  inferior  no- 
blesse, congregated  by  a  narrow  and  deep  sunk  casement,  were 
discussing  the  grave  matters  of  gallantry  and  intrigue ;  three 
petty  chieftains  of  the  band  below,  with  their  corselets  donned, 
and  their  swords  and  casques  beside  them,  were  sitting,  stolid 
and  silent,  at  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  might 
have  been  taken  for  automatons,  save  for  the  solemn  regularity 
with  which  they  ever  and  anon  lifted  to  their  moustachioed  lips 
their  several  goblets,  and  then,  with  a  complacent  grunt,  re-set- 
tled to  their  contemplations.  Striking  was  the  contrast  which 
their  northern  phlegm  presented  to  a  crowd  of  Italian  clients, 
and  petitioners,  and  parasites,  who  walked  restlessly  to  and  fro, 
talking  loudly  to  each  other,  with  all  the  vehement  gestures  and 
varying  physiognomy  of  southern  vivacity.  There  was  a  gen- 
eral stir  and  sensation  as  Adrian  broke  upon  this  miscellaneous 
company.  The  bandit  captains  nodded  their  heads  mechanic- 
ally ;  the  pages  bowed,  and  admired  the  fashion  of  his  plume 
and  hose ;  the  clients,  and  petitioners,  and  parasites,  crowded 
round  him,  each  with  a  separate  request  for  interest  with  his 
potent  kinsman.  Great  need  had  Adrian  of  his  wonted  urban- 
ity and  address,  in  extricating  himself  from  their  grasp ;  and 
painfully  did  he  win,  at  last,  the  low  and  narrow  door,  at  which 
stood  a  tall  servitor,  who  admitted  or  rejected  the  applicants, 
according  to  his  interest  or  caprice. 

"Is  the  Baron  alone. ^"  asked  Adrian. 

**  Why,  no,  my  lord  ;  a  foreign  signor  is  with  him — but  to 
you  he  is  of  course  visible." 

*'  Well,  you  may  admit  me.     I  would  inquire  of  his  health." 

The  servitor  opened  the  door — through  whose  aperture 
peered  many  a  jealous  and  wistful  eye — and  consigned  Adrian 
to  the  guidance  of  a  page,  who,  older  and  of  greater  esteem 
than  the  loiterers  in  the  ante-room  was  the  especial  henchman 
of  the  Lord  of  the  Castle.  Passing  another,  but  empty  cham- 
ber, vast  and  dreary,  Adrian  found  himself  in  a  small  cabinet, 
and  in  the  presence  of  his  kinsman. 

Before  a  table  bearing  the  implements  of  writing  sate  the  old 
Colonna ;  a  rol)e  of  ricli  furs  and  velvet  hung  loose  upon  his 
tall  nnd  stately  frame  ;  from  a  round  skull-cap,  of  comforting 
warmth  and  crimson   hue,  a  few  gray  locks  descended,  and 


go  RlENZtp 

mixed  with  a  long  and  reverent  beard  The  countenance  of  the 
aged  noble,  who  bad  long  passed  his  eigluieth  year,  still  re- 
tained the  traces  of  a  comeliness  for  which  in  earlier  man- 
hood he  was  remarkable.  His  eyes,  if  deep  sunken,  were  still 
keen  and  lively^  and  sparkled  with  all  the  fire  of  youth;  his 
mouth  curved  upward  in  a  pleasant,  though  half-satiric,  smib .; 
and  his  appearance  on  the  whole  was  prepossessing  and  core." 
manding,  indicating  rather  tlie  higii  blood,  the  shrewd  wit,  and 
the  gallant  valor  of  the  patrician,  than  his  craft,  hypocrisy,  anc? 
habitual  but  disdainful  spirit  of  oppression. 

Stephen  Colonna,  without  being  absolutely  a  hero,  was  ir.-a 
deed  far  braver  than  most  of  the  Romans,  though  he  held  fast 
to  the  Italian  maxim,  never  to  fight  an  enemy  while  it  is  possible 
to  cheat  him.  Two  faults,  however,  marred  the  effect  of  hi^ 
sagacity :  a  supreme  insolence  of  disposition,  and  a  profound 
belief  in  the  lights  of  his  experience.  He  was  incapable  of 
analogy.  What  had  never  happened  in  his  time,  he  was  perfect- 
ly persuaded  never  could  happen.  Thus,  though  generally 
esteemed  an  able  diplomatist,  he  had  the  cunning  of  the  in- 
triguant, and  not  the  providence  of  a  statesman.  If,  however, 
pride  made  him  arrogant  in  prosperity,  it  supported  him  in 
misfortune.  And  in  the  earlier  vicissitudes  of  a  life  which  had 
partly  been  consumed  in  exile,  he  had  developed  many  noble 
qualities  of  fortitude,  endurance,  and  real  greatness  of  soul ; 
which  showed  that  his  failings  were  rather  acquired  by  circum- 
stance than  derived  from  nature.  His  numerous  and  high 
born  race  were  proud  of  their  chief  ;  and  with  justice  ;  for  he 
was  the  ablest  and  most  honored,  not  only  of  the  direct  branch  of 
the  Colonna,  but  also,  perhaps,  of  all  the  more  powerful  barons. 

Seated  at  the  same  table  with   Stephen    Colonna  was  a  mar 
of  noble  presence,  of  about  three  or  four  and  thirty  years  of  age 
in  whom  Adrian  instantly  recognized  Walter  de  Montreal.     Thir 
celebrated  knight  was  scarcely  of  the  personal  appearance  which 
might  have   corresponded  with  the  terror  his  name   generally 
excited.     His  face  was   handsome,   almost   to   the  extreme  of 
womanish  delicacy.     His  fair  hair  waved  long  and  freely  over 
a  white  and  unwrinkled  forehead  :  the  life  of  a  camp  and  the 
suns  of  Italy  had  but  little  embrowned   his  clear  and  healthful 
complexion,  which  retained  mucli  of  the  bloom  of  yout!i„     His 
features  were  aquilmc  and    regular;  his  eyes,   of  a  light  hazel, 
were  large,  bright,  and  penetrating  ;  and  a    short,  but  curled 
beard  and  moustachio,  trimmed  with  soldicr-like  precision,  and 
very  little  darker  than  the  hair,  gave  indeed  a  martial  expression 
to  his  comely  countenance,  but  rather  the  expre^sip^  which  r  ^eht 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  9t 

have  suited  the  hero  of  courts  and  tournaments,  than  the  chief 
of  a  brigand's  camp.  The  aspect,  manner,  and  bearing,  of  the 
Provencal  were  those  which  captivate  rather  than  awe  ;  blend- 
ing, as  they  did,  a  certain  military  frankness  with  the  easy 
and  graceful  dignity  of  one  conscious  of  gentle  birth,  and  ac<. 
customed  to  mix,  on  equal  terms,  with  the  great  and  noble, 
His  form  happily  contrasted  and  elevated  the  character  oC  .. 
countenance  which  required  strength  and  stature  to  free  its  un- 
common beauty  from  the  charge  of  effeminacy,  being  of  grea 
height  and  remarkable  muscular  power,  without  the  least 
approach  to  clumsy  and  unwieldy  bulk  :  it  erred,  indeed,  rather 
to  the  side  of  leanness  than  flesh, — at  once  robust  and  slender. 
But  the  chief  personal  distinction  of  this  warrior,  the  most 
ledoubted  lance  of  Italy,  was  an  air  and  carriage  of  chivalric 
and  heroic  grace,  greatly  set  off  at  this  time  by  his  splendid 
dress,  which  was  of  brown  velvet  sown  with  pearls,  over  which 
hung  the  surcoat  worn  by  the  Knight  of  the  Hospital,  whereon 
was  wrought,  in  white,  the  eight-pointed  cross  that  made  the 
badge  of  his  order.  The  Knight's  attitude  was  that  of  earnest 
conversation,  bending  slightly  forward  towards  the  Colonna, 
and  resting  both  his  hands — which  (according  to  the  usual  dis- 
tinction of  the  old  Norman  race  *  from  whom,  though  born  in 
Provence,  Montreal  boasted  his  descent)  were  small  and  delicate, 
the  fingers  being  covered  with  jewels,  as  was  the  fashion  of  the 
day — upon  the  golden  hilt  of  an  enormous  sword,  on  the  sheath 
of  which  was  elaborately  wrought  the  silver  lilies  that  made  the 
device  of  the  Provencal  Brotherhood  of  Jerusalem. 

'* Good,  morrow,  fair  kinsman  !  "  said  Stephen.  "Seat  thy- 
self, I  pray  ;  and  know  in  this  knightly  visitor  the  celebrated 
Sieur  de  Montreal." 

"  All,  my  lord,"  said  Montreal,  smiling,  as  he  saluted  Adrian  ; 
'''and  how  is  my  lady  at  home  ?" 

**  You  mistake,  Sir  Knight,"  quoth  Stephen  ;  "  my  young 
'dnsman  is  not  yet  married  :  'faith,  as  Pope  Boniface  remarked 
when  he  lay  stretched  on  a  sick  bed,  and  his  confessor  talked 
to  him  about  Abraham's  bosom,  *  that  is  a  pleasure  the  greater 
tor  being  deferred.' " 

"  The  Signor  will  pardon  my  mistake,"  returned  Mon- 
treal. 

"But  not,"  said  Adrian,  "the  neglect  of  Sir  Walter  in  not 
ascertaining  the  fact  in  person.     My  thanks  to  him,  noble  kins- 

_  *  Small  hands  and  feet,  however  disproportioned  to  rfie  rest  of  the  person,  were  at  that 
time  deemed  no  less  a  distinction  of  the  well-born  than  they  have  been  in  a  more  refined 
age.  Many  readers  will  remember  the  pain  occasioned  to  Petrarch  by  his  tight  shoes.  Th© 
supposed  beauty  of  this  peculiarity  is  more  derived  from  the  feudal  than  £he  classic  tim^ 


92  RIENZ!, 

man,  are  greater  than  you  vveet  of ;  and  he  promised  to  visit  me^ 
that  he  might  receive  them  at  leisure." 

"I  assure  you,  Signor,"  answered  Montreal,  "that  I  have 
not  forgotten  the  invitation  ;  but  so  weighty  hitherto  have  been 
my  affairs  at  Rome,  that  I  have  been  obliged  to  parley  with  my 
impatience  to  better  our  acquaintance." 

"Oh,  ye  knew  each  other  before?"  said  Stephen.  **And 
how?" 

"  My  lord,  there  is  a  damsel  in  the  case  ! "  replied  Montreal. 
**  Excuse  my  silence." 

"Ah,  Adrian,  Adrian  !  when  will  you  learn  my  continence  !" 
said  Stephen,  solemnly  stroking  his  gray  beard.  "What  an 
example  I  set  you  !  But  a  truce  to  this  light  conversation, — 
let  us  resume  our  theme.  You  must  know,  Adrian,  that  it  is 
to  the  brave  band  of  my  guest  I  am  indebted  for  those  valiant 
gentlemen  below,  who  keep  Rome  so  quiet,  though  my  poor 
habitation  so  noisy.  He  has  called  to  proffer  more  assistance, 
if  need  be ;  and  to  advise  me  on  the  affairs  of  Northern  Italy. 
Continue,  I  pray  thee,  Sir  Knight ;  I  have  no  disguises  from 
my  kinsman." 

"Thou  seest,"  said  Montreal,  fixing  his  penetrating  eyes  on 
Adrian,  "thou  seest,  doubtless,  my  lord,  that  Italy  at  this 
moment  presents  to  us  a  remarkable  spectacle.  It  is  a  contest 
between  two  opposing  powers,  which  shall  destroy  the  other. 
The  one  power  is  that  of  the  unruly  and  turbulent  people — a 
power  which  they  call  *  Liberty';  the  other  power  is  that  of 
the  chiefs  and  princes — a  power  which  they  more  appropriately 
call  'Order.'  Between  these  parties  the  cities  of  Italy  are 
divided.  In  Florence,  in  Genoa,  in  Pisa,  for  instance,  is  es- 
tablished a  Free  State — a  Republic,  God  wot !  and  a  more 
riotous,  unhappy  state  of  government  cannot  well  be  imagined." 

"That  is  perfectly  true,"  quoth  Stephen;  "they  banished 
my  own  first  cousin  from  Genoa." 

"  A  perpetual  strife  in  short,"  continued  Montreal,  "  be 
tween  the  great  families  ;  an  alternation  of  prosecutions,  and 
confiscations,  and  banishments  :  to-day  the  Guelfs  proscribe 
the  Ghibellines ;  to-morrow  the  Ghil3ellines  drive  out  the 
Guelfs.  This  may  be  liberty,  but  it  is  the  liberty  of  the 
strong  against  the  weak.  In  the  other  cities,  as  Milan,  as 
Verona,  as  Bologna,  the  people  are  under  the  rule  of  one  man, 
who  calls  himself  a  prince,  and  whom  his  enemies  call  a  tyrant. 
Having  more  force  than  any  other  citizen,  he  preserves  a  firm 
government  ;  having  more  constant  demand  on  his  intellect  and 
energies  than  the  other  citizens,  he  also  preserves  a  wise  one; 


THE   LAST    OF    THE   TRIBUNES.  9^ 

These  two  orders  of  government  are  enlisted  against  each 
other  :  whenever  the  people  in  the  one  rebel  against  theii 
prince,  the  people  of  the  other — that  is,  the  free  States— send 
arms  and  money  to  their  assistance." 

"  You  hear,  Adrian,  how  wicked  those  last  are,"  quoth 
Stephen. 

*'  Now  it  seems  to  me,"  continued  Montreal,  ''that  this  con- 
test must  end  some  time  or  other.  All  Italy  must  become  re- 
publican or  monarchical.  It  is  easy  to  predict  which  will  be 
the  result." 

"  Yes,  Liberty  must  conquer  in  the  end  !  "  said  Adrian 
warmly. 

"  Pardon  me,  young  lord  ;  my  opinion  is  entirely  the  re- 
verse. You  perceive  that  these  republics  are  commercial,  are 
traders  ;  they  esteem  wealth,  they  despise  valor,  they  cultivate 
ail  trades  save  that  of  the  armorer.  Accordingly,  how  do 
they  maintain  themselves  in  war?  By  their  own  citizens? 
Not  a  v.'hit  of  it  !  Either  they  send  to  some  foreign  chief, 
and  promiscj  if  he  grant  them  his  protection,  the  principality 
of  the  city  for  five  or  ten  years  in  return  ;  or  else  they  bor- 
row from  some  hardy  adventurer,  like  myself,  as  many  troops 
as  they  can  afford  to  pay  for.     Is  it  not  so,  Lord  Adrian?" 

Adrian  nodded  his  reluctant  assent. 

*'  Well,  then,  it  is  the  fault  of  the  foreign  chief  if  he  do 
not  make  his  power  permanent ;  as  has  been  already  done  in 
States  once  free  by  the  Visconti  and  the  Scala  :  or  else  it  is 
the  fault  of  the  ca.ptain  of  the  mercenaries  if  he  do  not  con- 
vert his  brigands  into  senators,  and  himself  into  a  king.  These 
are  events  so  natural,  that  one  day  or  other  they  will  occur 
throughout  all  Italy.  And  all  Italy  will  then  become  mo- 
narchical. Now  it  seems  to  me  the  interest  of  all  the  powerful 
families — your  own,  at  Rome,  as  that  of  the  Visconti  at  Milan — 
to  expedite  this  epoch,  and  to  check,  while  you  yet  may  with 
ea^e,  that  rebellious  contagion  amongst  the  people  which  is 
now  rapidly  spreading,  and  which  ends  in  the  fever  of  license 
to  them,  but  in  the  corruption  of  death  to  you.  In  these  free 
States,  the  nobles  are  the  first  to  suffer  :  first  your  priviliges, 
then  your  property,  are  swept  away.  Nay,  in  Florence,  as  ye 
well  know,  my  lords,  no  noble  is  even  capable  of  holding  the 
meanest  office  in  the  State  ! "' 

*' Villains  ! "  said  Colonna,,  "they  violate  the  first  law  of 
nature  !  " 

"At  this  moment,'"  resumed  \fonlreal,  who,  engrossed  with 
k\%  «wb,)^f:t.  lit^%  b«fdf^  <He  ioterruptions  he  received  from  the 


94  RIENZI, 

holy  indignation  of  the  Baron:  "at  this  moment,  there  are 
many — the  wisest,  perhaps,  in  the  free  States — who  desire  to 
renew  the  old  Lombard  leagues,  in  defence  of  their  common  free- 
dom everywhere,  and  against  whosoever  shall  aspire  to  be  prince 
Fortunately,  the  deadly  jealousies  between  these  merchan*- 
States,  the  base  plebeian  jealousies,  more  of  trade  than  of  glory, 
interpose  at  present  an  irresistible  obstacle  to  this  design  ;  and 
Florence,  the  most  stirring  and  the  most  esteemed  of  all,  is 
happily  so  reduced  by  reverses  of  commerce  as  to  be  utterly 
unable  to  follow  out  so  great  an  undertaking.  Now,  then,  is 
the  time  for  us,  my  lords  ;  while  these  obstacles  are  so  great  for 
our  foes,  now  is  the  time  for  us  to  form  and  cement  a  counter- 
league  between  all  the  princes  of  Italy.  To  you,  noble  Stephen, 
I  have  come  as  your  rank  demands, — alone,  of  all  the  barons 
of  Rome, — to  propose  to  you  this  honorable  union.  Observe 
what  advantages  it  proffers  to  your  house.  The  popes  have 
abandoned  Rome  forever  ;  there  is  no  counterpoise  to  your 
ambition  ;  there  need  be  none  to  your  power.  You  see  before 
you  the  examples  of  Visconti  and  Taddeodi  Pepoli.  You  may 
found  in  Rome,  the  first  city  of  Italy,  a  supreme  and  un- 
controlled principality,  subjugate  utterly  your  weaker  rivals, — 
the  Savelli,  the  Malatesta,  the  Orsini, — and  leave  to  your  sons' 
sons  an  hereditary  kingdom  that  may  aspire  once  more,  per- 
haps, to  the  empire  of  the  world." 

Stephen  shaded  his  face  with  his  hands  as  he  answered  : 
*'  But  this,  noble  Montreal,  requires  means — money  and  men." 

*'  Of  the  last  you  can  command  from  me  enow ;  my  small 
company,  the  best  disciplined,  can  (whenever  I  please)  swell 
to  the  most  numerous  in  Italy :  in  the  first,  noble  Baron,  the 
rich  House  of  Colonna  cannot  fail ;  and  even  a  mortgage 
Dn  its  vast  estates  may  be  well  repaid  when  you  have  possessed 
yourselves  of  the  whole  revenues  of  Rome.  You  see,"  con- 
tinued Montreal,  turning  to  Adrian,  in  whose  youth  he  ex- 
pected a  more  warm  ally  than  in  his  hoary  kinsman  :  "  you 
see,  at  a  glance,  how  feasible  is  this  project,  and  what  a  mighty 
field  it  opens  to  your  House." 

**  Sir  Walter  de  Montreal,"  said  Adrian,  rising  from  his 
seat,  and  giving  vent  to  the  indignation  he  had  with  difficulty 
suppressed,  **I  grieve  much  that,  beneath  the  roof  of  the  first 
citizen  of  Rome,  a  stranger  should  attempt  thus  calmly,  and 
without  interruption,  to  excite  the  ambition  of  emulating  the 
execrated  celebrity  of  a  Visconti  or  a  Pepoli.  Speak,  my 
lord!  (turning  to  Stephen)  -  speak,  noble  kinsman!  and  tell 
Ihii  Knighi  of  Pr9v«fif.et  that  if  by  «  Colonnft  the  ancient 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  95 

grandeur  of  Rome  cannot  be  restored,  it  shall  not  be,  at  least, 
by  a  Colonna  that  her  last  wrecks  of  liberty  shall  be  swept 
a.vay." 

"  How  now,  Adrian  !  how  now,  sweet  kinsman  !  "  said 
Stephen,  thus  suddenly  appealed  to,  "calm  thyself,  I  pry  thee. 
Noble  Sir  Walter,  he  is  young — young,  and  hasty — he  means 
not  to  offend  thee," 

"Of  that  I  am  persuaded,"  returned  Montreal  coldly,  but 
with  great  and  courteous  command  of  temper.  "  He  speaks 
from  the  impulse  of  the  moment — a  praiseworthy  fault  in 
youth.  It  was  mine  at  his  age,  and  many  a  time  have  I  nearly 
lost  my  life  for  the  rashness.  Nay,  Signor,  nay  !  touch  not 
your  sword  so  meaninr;ly,  as  if  you  fancied  I  intimated  a 
:hrCcit ;  far  from  me  such  presumption.  I  have  learned  suf- 
Bcicnt  caution,  believe  me,  in  the  wars,  not  wantonly  to  draw 
against  me  a  blade  which  I  have  seen  wielded  against  such 
odds." 

Touched,  despite  himself,  by  the  courtesy  of  the  Knight, 
and  the  allusion  to  a  scene  in  which,  perhaps,  his  life  had  been 
preserved  by  Montreal,  Adrian  extended  his  hand  to  the  latter. 

"  I  v/as  to  blame  for  my  haste,"  said  he  frankly  ;  *'  but 
know,  by  my  very  heat,"  he  added  more  gravely,  "  that  your 
;)roject  will  find  no  friends  among  the  Colonna.  Nay,  in  the 
presence  of  my  noble  kinsman,  I  dare  to  tell  you,  that  could  even 
his  higli  sanction  lend  itself  to  such  a  scheme,  the  best  hearts 
of  his  house  would  desert  him  ;  and  I  myself,  his  kinsman, 
would  man  yonder  castle  against  so  unnatural  an  ambition  !  " 

A  slight  and  scarce  perceptible  cloud  passed  over  Montreal** 
countenance  at  these  words  ;  and  he  bit  his  lip  ere  he  replied : 

"  Yet  if  the  Orsini  be  less  scrupulous,  their  first  exertion  of 
power  would  be  heard  in  the  crashing  house  of  the  Colonna." 

*'  Know  you,"  returned  Adrian,  that  one  of  our  mottoes  is 
this  haughty  address  to  the  Romans,  *  If  we  fall,  ye  fall  also  '  ? 
And  better  that  fate,  than  a  rise  upon  the  wrecks  of  our  native 
city." 

"  Well,  well,  well  !  "  said  Montreal,  reseating  himself,  "  I  see 
that  I  must  leave  Rome  to  herself  ;  the  League  must  thrive 
without  her  aid.  I  did  but  jest  touching  the  Orsini,  for  they 
have  not  the  power  that  would  make  their  efforts  safe.  Let  us 
sweep,  then,  our  past  conference  from  our  recollection.  It  is 
the  nineteenth,  I  think.  Lord  Colonna,  on  which  you  propose 
to  repair  to  Corneto,  with  your  friends  and  retainers,  and  on 
which  you  have  invited  my  attendance  ?" 

"  It  is  on  that  day,  Sir  Knight,"  replied  the  Baron,  evidently 


^e  RIENZI, 

much  relieved  by  the  turn  the  conversation  had  assumed. 
"The  fact  is  that  we  have  been  so  charged  with  indifference  to 
the  interests  of  the  good  people,  that  I  strain  a  point  in  this 
expedition  to  contradict  the  assertion  ;  and  we  propose,  there- 
fore, to  escort  and  protect,  against  the  robbers  of  the  road,  a 
convoy  of  corn  to  Corneto.  In  truth,  I  may  add  another 
reason,  besides  fear  of  the  robbers,  that  makes  me  desire  as 
numerous  a  train  as  possible.  I  wish  to  show  my  enemies,  and 
the  people  generally,  the  solid  and  growing  power  of  iny  house 
the  display  of  such  an  armed  band  as  I  hope  to  levy  will  be  '. 
magnificent  occasion  to  strike  awe  into  the  riotous  and  refrac- 
tory. Adrian,  you  will  collect  your  servitors,  I  trust,  on  tha^ 
day  ;  we  would  not  be  without  you." 

*'  And  as  we  ride  along,  fair  signor,"  said  Montreal,  inclm- 
ing  to  Adrian,  "  we  will  find  at  least  one  subject  on  which  we 
can  agree  :  all  brave  men  and  true  knights  have  one  common 
topic, — and  its  name  is  Woman.  You  must  make  me  ac- 
quainted with  the  names  of  the  fairest  dames  of  Rome  ;  and  vve 
will  discuss  old  adventures  in  the  Parliament  of  Love,  and  hope 
for  new.  By  the  v;ay,  I  suppose,  Lord  Adrian,  you,  with  the 
rest  of  your  countrymen,  are  Petrarch-stricken?" 

**  Do  you  not  share  our  enthusiasm  ?  Slur  not  so  your  gallan- 
try, I  pray  you,'* 

"  Come,  we  must  not  again  disagree  ;  but,  by  my  halidame 
I  think  one  troubadour  roundel  worth  all  that  Petrarch  ever 
wrote.  He  has  but  borrowed  from  our  knightly  poesy,  to  dis- 
guise it  like  a  carpet  coxcomb." 

"  Well,"  said  Adrian  gaily,  "  for  every  line  of  the  trouba- 
dours that  you  quote  I  will  cite  you  another.  I  will  forgive 
you  for  injustice  to  Petrarch,  if  you  are  just  to  the  trouba- 
dours." 

"  Just !  "  cried  Montreal,  with  real  enthusiasm  :  "  I  am  of 
the  land,  nay,  the  very  blood,  of  the  troubadour  !  But  we 
grow  too  light  for  your  noble  kinsman  ;  and  it  is  time  for  me 
to  bid  you,  for  the  present,  farewell.  My  Lord  Colonna,  peace 
be  with  you  ;  farewell,  Sir  Adrian,  brother  mine  in  knighthood, — 
remember  your  challenge." 

And  with  an  easy  and  careless  grace  the  Knight  of  St.  John 
took  his  leave.  The  old  Baron,  making  a  dumb  sign  of  excuse 
to  Adrian,  followed  Montreal  into  the  adjoining  room. 

"  Sir  Knight !  "  said  he,  *'  Sir  Knight !  "  as  he  closed  the  door 
upon  Adrian,  and  then  drew  Montreal  to  the  recess  of  the 
casement,  "a  word  in  your  ear.  Think  not  I  slight  your  offer, 
*^ut  these  young  men  must  be  managed  ,  the  plot  is  great,  no* 


I 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  97 

ble,  grateful  to  my  heart,  but  it  requires  time  and  caution.     I 

have  many  of  my  house,  scrupulous  as  yon  hot-skull,  to  win 
over  ;  the  way  is  pleasant,  but  must  be  sounded  well  and  care- 
fully ;  you  understand  ?  " 

From  under  his  bent  brows  Montreal  darted  one  keen  glance 
at  Stephen,  and  then  answered  : 

"  My  friendship  for  you  dictated  my  offer.  The  League  may 
stand  without  the  Colonna ;  beware  a  time  when  the  Colonna 
cannot  stand  without  the  League.  My  lord,  look  v/ell  around 
you  ;  there  are  more  freemen — ay,  bold  and  stirring  ones,  too — 
in  Rome,  than  you  imagine.  Beware  Rienzi  1  Adieu,  we 
meet  soon  again." 

Thus  saying,  Montreal  departed,  soliloquizing  as  he  passed 
with  his  careless  step  through  the  crowded  ante-room  : 

*'  I  shall  fail  here  !  these  caitiff  nobles  have  neither  the  cour- 
age to  be  great,  nor  the  wisdom  to  be  honest.  Let  them  fall  ! 
I  may  find  an  adventurer  from  the  people,  an  adventurer  like 
myself,  worth  them  all." 

No  sooner  had  Stephen  returned  to  Adrian  than  he  flung  his 
arms  affectionately  round  his  ward,  who  was  preparing  his 
pride  for  some  sharp  rebuke  for  his  petulance. 

*' Nobly  feigned,  admirable,  admirable  !"  cried  the  Baron; 
"you  have  learned  the  true  art  of  a  statesman  at  the  Empe- 
ror's court.  I  always  thought  you  would,  always  said  it.  You 
saw  the  dilemma  I  was  in,  thus  taken  by  surprise  by  that  bar- 
barian s  mad  scheme ;  afraid  to  refuse,  more  afraid  to  accept. 
You  extricated  me  with  consummate  address  :  that  passion,  so 
natural  to  your  age,  was  a  famous  feint ;  drew  off  the  attack  ; 
gave  me  time  to  breathe  ;  allowed  me  to  play  with  the  savage. 
But  we  must  not  offend  him,  you  know  :  all  my  retainers  would 
desert  me,  or  sell  me  to  the  Orsini,  or  cut  my  throat,  if  he  but 
held  up  his  finger.  Oh  !  it  was  admirably  managed,  Adrian, 
admirably !  " 

"  Thank  Heaven  !  **  said  Adrian,  with  some  difficulty  re- 
covering the  breath  which  his  astonishment  had  taken  away, 
"you  do  not  think  of  embracing  that  black  proposition  ?  " 

"  Think  of  it  I  no,  indeed  I  "  said  Stephen^  throwing  himself 
back  on  his  chair.  "  V/hy,  do  you  not  know  my  age,  boy? 
Hard  on  my  ninetieth  year,  I  should  be  a  fool  indeed  tc  throw 
myself  into  such  a  whirl  of  turbulence  and  agitation.  I  want 
want  to  keep  what  I  have,  not  risk  it  by  grasping  more.  Am  I 
rot  the  beloved  of  the  Pope  ?  shall  I  hazard  his  excommunica- 
tion ?  Am  I  not  the  most  powerful  of  the  nobles?  should  I  be 
more  if  I  were  a  kinp-  ^    At  my  age  to  talk  to  me  of  such  stuff  [ 


^S  feiEi^zt, 

the  man*s  an  idiot.  Besides,"  added  the  old  man,  sinking  his 
voice,  and  looking  fearfully  round,  *'if  I  were  a  king  my  sons 
might  poison  me  for  the  succession.  They  are  good  lads, 
Adrian,  very  !  But  such  a  temptation  !  I  would  not  throw  it 
in  their  way  ;  these  gray  hairs  have  experience !  Tyrants 
don't  die  a  natural  death  ;  no,  no  !  Plague  on  the  Knight,  say 
I ;  he  has  already  cast  me  into  a  cold  sweat." 

Adrian  gazed  on  the  working  features  of  the  old  man,  whose 
selfishness  thus  preserved  him  from  crime.  He  listened  to  his 
concluding  words,  full  of  the  dark  truth  of  the  times  ;  and  as 
the  high  and  pure  ambition  of  Rienzi  flashed  upon  him  in  con- 
trast, he  felt  that  he  could  not  blame  its  fervor,  or  wonder  at  its 
excess. 

"And  then,  too,"  resumed  the  Baron,  speaking  more  deliber- 
ately as  he  recovered  his  self-possession,  "this  man,  by  way  of 
a  warning,  shows  me,  at  a  glance,  his  whole  ignorance  of  the 
state.  What  think  you  ?  he  has  mingled  with  the  mob,  and 
taken  their  rank  breath  for  power  ;  yes,  he  thinks  words  are 
soldiers,  and  bade  me — me,  Stephen  Colonna — beware — of 
whom,  think  you  ?  No,  you  will  never  guess  !  of  that  speech- 
maker,  Rienzi  !  my  own  old  jesting  guest  !  Ha  i  ha  !  ha  !  the 
ignorance  of  these  barbarians  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  and  the  old 
man  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

"  Yet  many  of  the  nobles  fear  that  same  Rienzi,"  said  Adrian 
gravely, 

"Ah  !  let  them  !  let  them  !  they  have  not  our  experience, 
our  knowledge  of  the  world,  Adrian.  Tut,  man,  when  did  decla- 
mation ever  overthrow  castles,  and  conquer  soldiery  ?  I  like 
Rienzi  to  harangue  the  mob  about  old  Rome,  and  such  stuff  ; 
it  gives  them  something  to  think  of  and  prate  about,  and  so  all 
their  fierceness  evaporates  in  words  ;  they  might  burn  a  house 
if  they  did  not  hear  a  speech.  But,  now  I  am  on  that  score,  I 
must  own  the  pedant  has  grown  impudent  in  his  new  otifice  ; 
here,  here,  I  received  this  paper  ere  I  rose  to-day.  I  hear  a 
similar  insolence  has  been  shown  to  all  the  nobles.  Read  it, 
will  you,"  and  the  Colonna  put  a  scroll  into  his  kinsman's 
hand. 

"  I  have  received  the  like,"  said  Adrian,  glancing  at  it. 
"  It  is  a  request  of  Rienzi's  to  attend  at  the  Church  of  St.  John 
of  Lateran,  to  hear  explained  the  inscription  on  a  Table  just 
discovered.  It  bears,  he  saith,  the  most  intimate  connection 
with  the  welfare  and  state  of  Rome." 

"Very  entertaining,  I  dare  to  say,  to  professors  and  book- 
men.    Pardon   me,   kinsman  ;  I    forgot  your  taste  for  these 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  99 

things  ;  and  my  son,  Gianni,  too,  shares  your  fantasy.  Well, 
well !  it  is  innocent  enough  !     Go  ;  the  man  talks  well." 

"  Will  you  not  attend  too  ?  " 

"  I,  my  dear  boy — I !  "  said  the  old  man  Colonna,  opening 
his  eyes  in  such  astonishment  that  Adrian  could  not  help  laugh- 
ing at  the  simplicity  of  his  own  question. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  INTERVIEW,  AND  THE  DOUBT, 

As  Adrian  turned  from  the  palace  of  his  guardian  and  bent 
his  way  in  the  direction  of  the  Forum,  he  came  somewhat  un- 
expectedly upon  Raimond,  Bishop  of  Orvietto,  who,  mounted 
upon  a  low  palfrey,  and  accompanied  by  some  three  or  four  of  his 
waiting-men,  halted  abruptly  when  he  recognized  the  young 
noble. 

"  Ah,  my  son  !  it  is  seldom  that  I  see  thee  :  how  fares  it  with 
thee  ?  well  ?  So,  so  !  I  rejoice  to  hear  it.  Alas  !  what  a  state 
of  society  is  ours,  when  compared  to  the  tranquil  pleasures  of 
Avignon  !  There  all  men  who,  like  us,  are  fond  of  the  same 
pursuits,  the  same  studies,  delicire  musarum^  hum  !  hum !  (the 
Bishop  was  proud  of  an  occasional  quotation,  right  or  wrong), 
are  brought  easily  and  naturally  together.  But  here  we  scarce- 
ly dare  stir  out  of  our  houses,  save  upon  great  occasions.  But 
talking  of  great  occasions  and  the  Muses  reminds  me  of  our 
good  Rienzi's  invitation  to  the  Lateran  :  of  course,  you  will  at- 
tend ;  'tis  a  mighty  knotty  piece  of  Latin  he  proposes  to  solve; 
so  I  hear,  at  least  ;  very  interesting  to  us,  my  son,  very." 

"  It  is  to-morrow,"  answered  Adrian.  "Yes,  assuredly;  I 
will  be  there." 

*'  And,  harkye,  my  son,"  said  the  Bishop,  resting  his  hand 
affectionately  on  Adrian's  shoulder,  "  I  have  reason  to  hope 
that  he  will  remind  our  poor  citizens  of  the  Jubilee  for  the 
year  Fifty,  and  stir  them  towards  clearing  the  road  of  the 
brigands  :  a  necessary  injunction,  and  one  to  be  heeded  time- 
ously  ;  for  who  will  come  here  for  absolution  when  he  stands 
a  chance  of  rushing  unannealed  upon  purgatory  by  the  way  ? 
You  have  heard  Rienzi, — ay  ?  quite  a  Cicero — ay !  Well, 
Heaven  bless  you,  my  son  !  you  will  not  fail  ?'* 

**  Nay,  not  I." 

^  V«t  it«y  I  ft  wor4  with  ^ou ;  just  suggest  to  all  whom  yo« 


roO  RIENZI, 

may  meet  the  advisability  of  a  full  meeting  ;  it  looks  well  foi 
the  city  to  show  respect  to  letters." 

"  To  say  nothing  of  the  Jubilee/'  :idded  Adrian,  smiling. 

"  Ah,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Jubilee — very  good  !  Adieu  for 
the  present  !  "  And  the  Bishop,  resettling  himself  on  his  sad- 
dle, ambled  solemnly  on  to  visit  his  various  friends,  and  press 
them  to  the  meeting. 

Meanv/hile  Adrian  continued  his  course  till  he  had  passed 
the  Capitol,  the  Arch  of  Severus,  the  crumbling  colunins  of 
the  fane  of  Jupiter,  and  found  himself  amidst  the  long  grass, 
the  whispering  reeds,  and  the  neglected  vines,  that  \/ave  over 
the  now-vanished  pomp  of  the  Golden  Hou^e  of  Nero.  Seat- 
ing himself  on  a  fallen  pillar,  by  that  spot  where  the  traveller  de- 
scends to  the  (so  called)  Baths  of  Livia,  he  looked  impatiently 
to  the  sun,  as  to  blame  it  for  the  slowness  of  its  march- 

Not  long,  however,  had  he  to  wait  before  a  light  step  was 
heard  crushing  the  fragrant  grass ;  and  presently  through  the 
arching  vines  gleamed  a  face  that  might  well  have  seemed  the 
nymph,  the  goddess  of  the  scene. 

"  My  beautiful !  my  Irene  !  how  shall  I  thank  thee  ?  " 

It  was  long  before  the  delighted  lover  suffered  himself  to  ob- 
serve upon  Irene's  face  a  sadness  that  did  not  usually  cloud  it 
in  his  presence.  Her  voice,  too,  trembled  ;  her  words  seemed 
constrained  and  cold. 

"  Have  I  offended  thee  ?  "  he  asked  ;  "  or  what  less  misfor- 
tune hath  occurred  !  " 

Irene  raised  her  eyes  to  her  lover's,  and  said,  looking  at  him 
earnestly,  *' Tell  me,  my  lord,  in  sober  and  simple  truth,  tell 
me,  would  it  grieve  thee  much  were  this  to  be  our  last 
meeting  ?" 

Paler  than  the  marble  at  his  feet  grew  the  dark  cheek  of 
Adrian.  It  was  some  moments  ere  he  could  reply,  and  he  did 
so  then  with  a  forced  smile  and  a  quivering  lip. 

"  Jest  not  so,  Irene  !     Last !  that  is  not  a  word  for  us  !  " 

**But  hear  me,  my  lord — " 

"  Why  so  cold  ?  Call  me  Adrian  ! — friend  ! — lover  I  or  be 
dumb !  " 

*'  Well,  then,  my  soul's  soul !  my  all  of  hope  !  my  life's 
life  I  "  exclaimed  Irene  passionately,  **  hear  me  !  I  fear  that 
we  stand  at  this  moment  upon  some  gulf  whose  depth  I  seenot^ 
but  which  may  divide  us  forever  !  Thou  knowest  the  real 
nature  of  my  brother,  and  dost  not  misread  him  as  many  do. 
Long  has  he  nldnncdi,  and  .schemed,  and  cotnmuned  with  him- 
Iflf,  knd,  feeling  hU  way  amidst  the  people,  prepared  the  patli 


THE   LAST   OP   THE   TRIBUNES.  lOf 

to  some  great  design.     But  now — (thou  wilt  not  betray  ;  thou 
wilt  not  injure  him  ?  he  is  thy  friend  I)  " 

"  And  thy  brother  !     I  would  give  my  life  for  his  !     Say  on!  " 

*'But  now,  then,"  resumed  Irene,  "the  time  for  that  enter- 
prise, whatever  it  be,  is  coming  fast.  I  know  not  of  its  exact 
nature,  but  I  know  that  it  is  against  the  nobles — against  thy 
order — against  thy  house  itself !  If  it  succeed, — oh,  Adrian  ! 
thou  thyself  mayst  not  be  free  from  danger ;  and  my  name,  at 
least,  will  be  coupled  with  the  name  of  thy  foes.  If  it  fail, 
my  brother,  my  bold  brother,  is  swept  away  !  He  will  fall  a 
victim  to  revenge  or  justice,  call  it  as  you  will.  Your  kinsman 
may  be  his  judge — his  executioner  ;  and  I — even  if  I  should  yet 
live  to  mourn  over  the  boast  and  glory  of  my  humble  line — could 
I  permit  myself  to  love,  to  see,  one  in  whose  veins  flowed  the 
blood  of  his  destroyer  ?  Oh  !  I  am  wretched,  wretched  ! 
these  thoughts  make  me  well-nigh  mad  ! "  and,  wringing  her 
hands  bitterly,  Irene  sobbed  aloud. 

Adrian  himself  was  struck  forcibly  by  the  picture  thus  pre- 
sented to  him,  although  the  alternative  it  embraced  had  often 
before  forced  itself  dimly  on  his  mind.  It  was  true,  however, 
that,  not  seeing  the  schemes  of  Rienzi  backed  by  any  physical 
power,  and  never  yet  having  witnessed  the  mighty  force  of 
a  moral  revolution,  he  did  not  conceive  that  any  rise  to  which 
he  might  instigate  the  people  could  be  permanently  successful: 
and,  as  for  his  punishment,  in  that  city,  where  all  justice  was 
the  slave  of  interest,  Adrian  knew  himself  powerful  enough  to 
obtain  forgiveness  even  for  the  greatest  of  all  crimes — armed 
insurrection  against  the  nobles.  As  these  thoughts  recurred 
to  him,  he  gained  the  courage  to  console  and  cheer  Irene. 
But  his  efforts  were  only  partially  successful.  Awakened  by 
her  fears  to  that  consideration  of  the  future  which  hitherto 
she  had  forgotten,  Irene,  for  the  first  time,  seemed  deaf  to  the 
uharmer's  voice. 

"Alas  !  "  said  she  sadly,  "even  at  the  best,  what  can  this 
.ove,  that  we  have  so  blindly  encouraged,  what  can  it  end  in  ? 
Thou  must  not  wed  with  one  like  me  ;  and  I  !  how  foolish  I 
have  been  !  " 

"  Recall  thy  senses  then,  Irene,"  said  Adrian  proudly,  part- 
Jy  perhaps  in  anger,  partly  in  his  experience  of  the  sex. 
"  Love  another,  and  more  wisely,  if  thou  wilt  ;  cancel  thy 
vows  with  me,  and  continue  to  think  it  a  crime  to  love,  and  a 
folly  to  be  true  !  " 

"  Cruel  !  "  said  Irene  falteringly,  and  in  her  turn  alarmed 
**  Dost  thou  speak  in  earnest  ?  " 


I02  RIENZr,      ' 

**  Tell  me,  ere  I  answer  you,  tell  me  this :  come  death,  comd 
anguish,  come  a  whole  life  of  sorrow,  as  the  end  of  this  love, 
wouldst  thou  yet  repent  that  thou  hast  loved  ?  If  so,  thou 
knowest  not  the  love  that  I  feel  for  thee." 

"Never!  never  can  I  repent!"  said  Irene,  falling  upon 
Adrian's  neck  ;  '*  forgive  me  !  " 

"  But  is  there,  in  truth,"  said  Adrian,  a  little  while  after  this 
lover-like  quarrel  and  reconciliation,  "is  there,  in  truth,  so 
marked  a  difference  between  thy  brother's  past  and  his  present 
bearing  ?  Hov/  knowest  thou  that  the  time  for  action  is  so 
near  ?" 

"  Because  now  he  sits  closeted  whole  nights  with  all  ranks  of 
men  ;  he  shuts  up  his  books,  he  reads  no  more ;  but,  when 
alone,  walks  to  and  fro  his  chamber,  muttering  to  himself. 
Sometimes  he  pauses  before  the  calendar,  which  of  late  he  has 
fixed  with  his  own  hand  against  the  wall,  and  passes  his  finger 
over  the  letters,  till  he  comes  to  some  chosen  date,  and  then  he 
plays  with  his  sword  and  smiles.  But  two  nights  since,  arms, 
too,  in  great  number  were  brought  to  the  house  ;  and  I  heard 
the  chief  of  the  men  who  brought  them — a  grim  giant,  known 
well  amongst  the  people — say,  as  he  wiped  his  brow,  *  These 
will  see  work  soon  ! '  " 

"Arms?  Are  you  sure  of  that?"  said  Adrian  anxiously. 
"  Nay,  then,  there  is  more  in  these  schemes  than  I  imagined  ! 
But  (observing  Irene's  gaze  bent  fearfully  on  him  as  his  voice 
changed,  he  added,  more  gaily) — but  come  what  may,  believe 
me,  my  beautiful !  my  adored  !  that  while  I  live,  thy  brother 
shall  not  suffer  from  the  wrath  he  may  provoke,  nor  I,  though 
he  forget  our  ancient  friendship  cease  to  love  thee  less." 

'*  Signora  !  Signora  !  child  !  it  is  time  !  we  must  go  !  "  said 
the  shrill  voice  of  Benedetta,  now  peering  through  the  foliage 
*'  The  working-men  pass  home  this  way  ;  I  see  them  approach" 
ing. 

The  lovers  parted  ;  for  the  first  time  the  serpent  had  pene- 
trated into  their  Eden  ;  they  had  conversed,  they  had  thoughtj 
©f  other  things  than  Love. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  SITUATION  OF  A  POPULAR  PATRICIAN  IN    TIMES    OF    POPU- 
LAR DISCONTENT. SCENE  OF    THE  LATERAN. 

The  situation  of  a   patrician  who  honestly  loves  the    people 
iSy  in  those  evil  times  when   power   oppresses  and   freedom 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  I03 

Struggles, — when  the  two  divisions  of  men  are  wrestling  against 
each  other, — the  most  irksome  and  perplexing  that  destiny 
can  possibly  contrive.  Shall  he  take  part  with  the  nobles?  he 
betrays  his  conscience  !  With  the  people  ?  he  deserts  his 
friends.  But  that  consequence  of  the  last  alternative  is  not 
the  sole,  nor,  perhaps,  to  a  strong  mind,  the  most  severe.  All 
men  are  swayed  and  chained  by  public  opinion  ;  it  is  the  public 
judge  ;  but  public  opinion  is  not  the  same  for  all  ranks.  The 
public  opinion  that  excites  or  deters  the  plebeian  is  the  opinion 
of  the  plebeians, — of  those  whom  he  sees,  and  meets,  and 
knows  ;  of  those  with  whom  he  is  brought  in  contact  ;  those 
with  whom  he  has  mixed  from  childhood  ;  those  whose  praises 
are  daily  heard ;  whose  censure  frowns  upon  him  with  every  hour.* 
So,  also,  the  public  opinion  of  the  great  is  the  opinion  of  their 
equals, — of  those  whom  birth  and  accident  cast  forever  in  their 
way.  This  distinction  is  full  of  important  practical  deduce 
tions  ;  it  is  one  which,  more  than  most  maxims,  should  nevei 
be  forgotten  by  a  politician  who  desires  to  be  profound.  It  is> 
then,  an  ordeal  terrible  to  pass,  which  few  plebeians  ever  pass> 
which  it  is  therefore  unjust  to  expect  patricians  to  cross  unfal- 
teringly ;  the  ordeal  of  opposing  the  public  opinion  which 
exists  for  them.  They  cannot  help  doubting  their  own  judg- 
ment ;  they  cannot  help  thinking  the  voice  of  wisdom  or  of 
virtue  speaks  in  those  sounds  which  have  been  deemed  oracles 
from  their  cradle.  In  the  tribunal  of  Sectarian  Prejudice  they 
imagine  they  recognize  the  court  of  the  universal  Conscience. 
Another  powerful  antidote  to  the  activity  of  a  patrician  so 
placed,  is  in  the  certainty  that  to  the  last  the  motives  of  such 
activity  will  be  alike  misconstrued  by  the  aristocracy  he  deserts 
and  the  people  he  joins.  It  seems  so  unnatural  in  a  man  to 
fly  in  the  face  of  his  own  order,  that  the  world  is  willing  to  sup- 
pose any  clue  to  the  mystery  save  that  of  honest  conviction 
or  lofty  patriotism,  "  Ambition  !  "  says  one.  *'  Disappoint- 
ment !  "  cries  another.  *'  Some  private  grudge  !  "hints  a  third. 
"  Mob-courting  vanity  !"  sneers  a  fourth.  The  people  admire 
at  first,  but  suspect  afterwards.  The  moment  he  thwarts  a 
popular  wish  there  is  no  redemption  for  him  ;  he  is  accused  of 
having  acted  the  hypocrite  — of  having  worn  the  sheep's  fleece  : 

*  It  is  the  same  in  still  smaller  divisions.  The  public  opinion  for  lawyers  is  that  of  law- 
yers ;  of  soldiers,  that  of  the  army  ;  of  scholars,  it  is  that  of  men  of  literature  and  science. 
And  to  the  susceptible  amongst  the  latter,  the  hostile  criticism  of  learning  has  been  more 
stinging  than  the  severest  moral  censures  of  the  vulgar.  Manyfa  man  has  done  a  great  act: 
or  composed  a  great  work,  solely  to  please  the  two  or  three  persons  constantly  present  to 
him.  Their  voice  was  his  public  opinion.  I'he  public  opinion  that  operated  on  Bishop,  the 
rr-rderer,  was  the  opinion  of  the  Burkers.  his  comrades.  Did  that  condemn  him  ?  No! 
1>  .  knew  no  other  public  opinion  till  he  came  to  be  hanged  and  caught  the  loathing  eye% 
gnd  heard  the  hissing  exeoations,  ©f  the  crowd  below  his  gibbet. 


104  RIENZI, 

and  now,  say  tliey,  **  See  !  the  wolfs  teeth  peep  out  ?  *'     Is  Tie 

familiar  with  the  people  ?  it  is  cajolery  !  Is  he  distant?  it  ia 
pride  !  What,  then,  sustains  a  man  in  such  a  situation,  followmg 
his  own  conscience,  with  his  eyes  open  to  all  the  perils  of  the 
path  r  Away  with  the  cant  of  public  opinion  ;  away  with  the 
poor  delusion  of  posthumous  justice  ;  he  will  offend  the  first, 
he  will  never  obtain  the  last.  What  sustains  him  ?  His  owy 
SOUL  !  A  man  thoroughly  great  has  a  certam  contempt  for 
his  kind  while  he  aids  them  :  their  weal  or  woe  are  all  their 
applause,  their  blame,  are  nothing  to  him.  He  walks  forth  from 
the  circle  of  birth  and  habit  ;  he  is  deaf  to  the  little  motives  ot 
little  men.  High,  through  the  widest  space  his  orbit  may  de- 
scribe, he  holds  on  his  course  to  guide  or  to  enlighten  ;  but  the 
noises  below  reach  him  not  !  Until  the  wheel  is  broken;  until 
the  dark  void  swallow  up  the  star,  it  makes  melody  night  and 
day,  to  his  own  ear  :  thirsting  for  no  sound  from  the  earth  it 
illumines,  anxious  for  no  companionship  in  the  path  through 
which  it  rolls,  conscious  of  its  own  glory,  and  contented,  there- 
fore, to  be  alo7ie  ! 

But  minds  of  this  order  areTaTe.  All  ages  cannot  produce 
them.  They  are  exceptions  to  the  ordinary  and  human  virtue, 
which  is  influenced  and  regulated  by  external  circumstance. 
At  a  time  when  to  be  merely  susceptible  to  the  voice  of  fame 
was  a  great  pre-eminence  in  moral  energies  over  the  rest  of 
mankind,  it  would  be  impossible  that  any  one  should  ever  have 
formed  the  conception  of  that  more  refined  and  metaphysical 
sentiment,  that  purer  excitement  to  high  deeds,  that  glory  in 
one's  own  heart,  which  is  so  immeasurably  above  the  desire  of 
a  renown  that  lackeys  the  heels  of  others.  In  fact,  before  v/e 
can  dispense  with  the  world,  we  must,  by  a  long  and  sever 
novitiate  ;  by  the  probation  of  much  thought,  and  much  sor 
row,  by  deep  and  sad  conviction  of  the  vanity  of  all  that  the 
world  can  give  us,  have  raised  ourselves — not  iw  the  fervor  oi 
an  hour,  but  habitually — above  the  world  :  an  abstraction — ar. 
idealism — which,  in  our  wise  age,  how  few  even  of  the  wisest 
can  attain  !  Yet,  till  we  are  thus  fortunate,  we  know  not  the 
true  divinity  of  contemplation,  nor  the  all-sufficing  mightiness 
of  conscience  ;  nor  can  we  retreat  with  solemn  footsteps  into 
that  Holy  of  Holies  in  our  own  souls,  wherein  we  know,  and 
feel,  how  much  our  nature  is  capable  of  the  self-existence  of  a 
God  ! 

But  to  return  to  the  tilings  and  thoughts  of  earth.  Those 
considerations,  and  those  links  of  circumstance,  which  in  a 
similar  situation  have  changed  so  many  honest  and  courageous 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  105 

minds,  changed  also  the  mind  of  Adrian.  He  felt  in  a  false 
position.  His  reason  and  conscience  shared  in  the  schemes  of 
Rienzi,  and  his  natural  hardihood  and  love  of  enterprise  would 
have  led  him  actively  to  share  the  danger  of  their  execution. 
But  this,  all  his  associations,  his  friendships,  his  private  and 
household  ties,  loudly  forbade.  Against  his  order,  against  his 
iiouse,  against  the  companions  of  his  youth,  how  could  he  plot 
secretly,  or  act  sternly?  By  the  goal  to  which  he  was  impelled 
by  patriotism,  stood  hypocrisy  and  ingratitude.  Who  would 
relieve  him  the  honest  champion  of  his  country  who  was  a 
traitor  to  his  friends  ?     Thus,  indeed, 

**  The  native  hue  of  resolution 
Was  sickled  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought  ^  '* 

And  he  who  should  have  been  by  nature  a  leader  of  the  time 
became  only  its  spectator.  Yet  Adrian  endeavored  to  console 
himself  for  his  present  passiveness  in  a  conviction  of  the  policy 
of  his  conduct.  He  who  takes  no  share  in  the  commencement 
of  civil  revolutions  can  often  become,  with  the  most  effect,  a 
mediator  between  the  passions  and  the  parties  subsequently 
formed.  Perhaps,  under  Adrian's  circumstances,  delay  was 
really  the  part  of  a  prudent  statesman  ;  the  very  position  which 
cripples  at  the  first,  often  gives  authority  before  the  end.  Clear 
from  the  excesses,  and  saved  from  the  jealousies,  of  rival  fac- 
tions, all  men  are  willing  to  look  with  complaisance  and  respect 
to  a  new  actor  in  a  turbulent  drama ;  his  moderation  may  make 
him  trusted  by  the  people  ;  his  rank  enable  him  to  be  a  fitting 
mediator  with  the  nobles  ;  and  thus  the  qualities  that  would 
ha^e  rendered  him  a  martyr  at  one  period  of  the  revolution, 
raise  him  perhaps  into  a  saviour  at  another. 

Silent,  therefore,  and  passive,  Adrian  waited  the  progress  of 
events.  If  the  projects  of  Rienzi  failed,  he  might  by  that  in- 
activity the  better  preserve  the  people  from  new  chains,  and 
their  champion  from  death.  If  those  projects  succeeded,  he 
might  equally  save  his  house  from  the  popular  wrath,  and,  ad- 
vocating liberty,  check  disorder.  Such,  at  least,  were  his  hopes  ; 
and  thus  did  the  Italian  sagacity  and  caution  of  his  character 
::ontrol  and  pacify  the  enthusiasm  of  youth  and  courage. 

The  sun  shone  calm  and  cloudless  upon  the  vast  concourse 
gathered  before  the  broad  space  that  surrounds  the  Church  of 
St.  John  of  Lateran.  Partly  by  curiosity,  partly  by  the  desire  of 
the  Bishop  of  Orvietto,  partly  because  it  was  an  occasion  in 
which  they  could  display  the  pomp  of  their  retinues,  many  of 
the  principal  Barons  of  Rome  had  gathered  to  this  spot, 


I06  RIENZI, 

On  one  of  the  steps  ascending  to  the  church,  with  his  mantle 
folded  round  him,  stood  Walter  de  Montreal,  gazing  on  the  vari- 
ous parties  that,  one  after  another,  swept  through  the  lane  which 
the  soldiers  of  the  Church  preserved  unimpeded,  in  the  middle 
of  the  crowd,  for  the  access  of  the  principal  nobles.  He 
watched  with  interest,  though  with  his  usual  carelessness  of  air 
and  roving  glance,  the  different  marks  and  looks  of  welcome 
given  by  the  populace  to  the  different  personages  of  note.  Ban- 
ners and  pennons  preceded  each  signor,  and,  as  they  waved 
aloft,  tlie  witticisms  or  nicknames — the  brief  words  of  praise  or 
censure,  that  imply  so  much —  which  passed  to  and  fro  among 
that  lively  crowd,  were  treasured  carefully  in  his  recollection. 

"  Make  way,  there  !  way  for  my  Lord  Martino  Orsini — 
Baron  di  Porto  !  " 

"  Peace,  minion  !  draw  back  !  way  for  the  Signor  Adrian 
Colonna,  Baron  di  Castello,  and  Knight  of  the  Empire." 

And  at  those  two  rival  shouts,  you  saw  waving  on  high  the 
golden  bear  of  the  Orsini,  with  the  motto,  "Beware  my  em- 
brace ! "  and  the  solitary  column  on  an  azure  ground,  of  the 
Colonna,  with  Adrian's  especial  device,  **  Sad,  but  strong." 
The  train  of  Martino  Orsini  was  much  more  numerous  than 
that  of  Adrian,  which  last  consisted  but  of  ten  servitors.  But 
Adrian's  men  attracted  far  greater  admiration  amongst  the 
crowd,  and  pleased  more  the  experienced  eye  of  the  warlike 
Knight  of  St.  John.  Their  arms  were  polished  like  mirrors  ; 
their  height  was  to  an  inch  the  same ;  their  march  was  regular 
and  sedate  ;  their  mien  erect ;  they  looked  neither  to  the  right 
nor  left ;  they  betrayed  that  ineffable  discipline — that  harmony 
of  order — which  Adrian  had  learned  to  impart  to  his  men  dur- 
ing his  own  apprenticeship  of  arms.  But  the  disorderly  train  of 
the  Lord  of  Porto  was  composed  of  men  of  all  heights.  Their 
arms  were  ill-polished  and  ill-fashioned,  and  they  pressed  con- 
fusedly on  each  other  ;  thej;  laughed  and  spoke  aloud  ;  and  in 
iheir  mien  and  bearing  expressed  all  the  insolence  of  men  who 
despised  alike  the  master  they  served  and  the  people  they  awed. 
The  two  bands  coming  unexpectedly  on  each  other  through 
this  narrow  defile,  the  jealousy  of  the  two  houses  presently  de- 
clared itself.  Each  pressed  forward  for  the  precedence  ;  and, 
as  the  quiet  regularity  of  Adrian's  train,  and  even  its  compac- 
paucity  of  numbers,  enabled  it  to  pass  before  the  servitors  of 
his  rival,  the  populace  set  up  a  loud  shout,  "  A  Colonna  for- 
ever !  "     "  Let  the  Bear  dance  after  the  Column  !  " 

"  On,  ye  knaves  !  "  said  Orsini  aloud  to  his  men.  "  How 
h*ve  ye  suffered  this  affront.?"     And  passing  himself  to  the 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  16j^ 

head  of  his  men,  he  would  have  advanced  through  the  midst  of 
his  rival's  train,  had  not  a  tall  guard,  in  the  Pope's  livery, 
placed  his  baton  in  the  way. 

"Pardon,  my  lord  !  we  have  the  Vicar's  express  commands 
to  suffer  no  struggling  of  the  different  trains  one  with  an- 
other." 

"Knave  !  dost  thou  bandy  words  with  me  ?"  said  the  fierce 
Orsini  ;  and  with  his  sword  he  clove  the  baton  in  two. 

"In  the  Vicar's  name,  I  command  you  to  fall  back  !  '*  said 
the  sturdy  guard,  now  placing  his  huge  bulk  in  the  very  front 
of  the  noble's  path. 

"It  is  Cecco  del  Vecchio !"  cried  those  of  the  populace  who 
were  near  enough  to  perceive  the  interruption  and  its  cause. 

"Ay,"  said  one,  "  the  good  Vicar  has  put  many  of  the  stout- 
est fellows  in  the  Pope's  livery,  in  order  the  better  to  keep 
peace.     He  could  have  chosen  none  better  than  Cecco." 

"  But  he  must  not  fall !  "  cried  another,  as  Orsini,  glaring  on 
the  smith,  drew  back  his  sword  as  if  to  plunge  it  through  his 
bosom. 

"  Shame  !  shame  !  shall  the  Pope  be  thus  insulted  in  his  own 
city?"  cried  several  voices.  "Down  with  the  sacrilegious — 
down  !  "  And,  as  if  by  a  preconcerted  plan,  a  whole  body  of 
the  mob  broke  at  once  through  the  lane,  and  swept  like  a  tor- 
rent over  Orsini  and  his  jostled  and  ill-assorted  train.  Orsini 
himself  was  thrown  on  the  ground  with  violence,  and  trampled 
upon  by  a  hundred  footsteps  ;  his  men,  huddled  and  struggling 
as  much  against  themselves  as  against  the  mob,  were  scattered 
and  overset ;  and  when,  by  a  great  effort  of  the  guards,  headed 
by  the  smith  himself,  order  was  again  restored  and  the  line  re- 
formed, Orsini,  well-nigh  choked  with  his  rage  and  humiliation, 
and  greatly  bruised  by  the  rude  assaults  he  had  received, 
could  scarcely  stir  from  the  ground.  The  officers  of  the  Pope 
raised  him,  and,  when  he  was  on  his  legs,  he  looked  wildly 
I  around  for  his  sword,  which,  falling  from  his  hand,  had  been 
'  kicked  amongst  the  crowd,  and  seeing  it  not,  he  said,  between 
his  ground  teeth,  to  Cecco  del  Vecchio  : 

"  Fellow,  thy  neck  shall  answer  this  outrage,  or  may  Goc 
desert  me!"  and  passed  along  through  the  space;  while  a 
half-suppressed  and  exultant  hoot  from  the  bystanders  followed 
his  path. 

"  Way  there  I  "  cried  the  smith,  "  for  the  Lord  Martino  di 
Porto,  and  may  all  the  people  know  that  he  has  threatened  to 
take  my  life  for  the  discharge  of  my  duty  in  obedience  to  the 
Pope's  Vicar  I " 


I08  RIENZI, 

"He  dare  not ! "  shouted  out  a  thousand  voices  ;  the  people 
can  protect  their  own  !  " 

This  scene  had  not  been  lost  on  the  Proven9al,  who  well 
knew  how  to  construe  the  wind  by  the  direction  of  straws,  and 
saw  at  once,  by  the  boldness  of  the  populace,  that  they  them- 
selves were  conscious  of  a  coining  tempest.  "  Par  Dieu"  said 
he,  as  he  saluted  Adrian,  who,  gravely,  and  without  looking 
behind,  had  now  won  the  steps  of  the  church,  "yon  tall  fellow 
has  a  brave  heart,  and  many  friends,  too.  What  think  you,"  he 
added,  in  a  low  whisper,  "  is  not  this  scene  a  proof  that  the 
nobles  are  less  safe  than  they  wot  of?" 

"  The  beast  begins  to  kick  against  the  spur,  Sir  Knight," 
answered  Adrian  ;  *'  a  wise  horseman  should,  in  such  a  case, 
take  care  how  he  pull  the  rein  too  tight,  lest  the  beast  should 
rear,  and  he  be  overthrown  ;  yet  that  is  the  policy  thou  wouldst 
recommend." 

"  You  mistake,"  returned  Montreal  ;  "  my  wish  was  to  give 
Rome  one  sovereign  instead  of  many  tyrants ;  but  hark  !  what 
means  that  bell?" 

'*  The  ceremony  is  about  to  begin,"  answered  Adrian.  "  Shall 
we  enter  the  church  together  ?" 

Seldom  had  a  temple  consecrated  to  God  witnessed  so 
singular  a  spectacle  as  that  which  now  animated  the  solemn 
space  of  the  Lateran. 

In  the  centre  of  the  church  seats  were  raised  in  an  amphi- 
theatre, at  the  far  end  of  which  was  a  scaffolding,  a  little  higher 
than  the  rest  ;  below  this  spot,  but  high  enough  to  be  in  sight 
of  all  the  concourse,  was  placed  a  vast  table  of  iron,  on  which 
was  graven  an  ancient  inscription,  and  bearing  in  its  centre  a 
clear  and  prominent  device,  presently  to  be  explained. 

The  seats  were  covered  with  cloth  and  rich  tapestry.  In  the 
rear  of  the  church  was  drawn  a  purple  curtain.  Around  the 
amphitheatre  were  the  officers  of  the  Church,  in  the  party-col' 
ored  liveries  of  the  Pope.  To  the  right  of  the  scaffold  sate 
Raimond,  Bishop  of  Orvietto,  in  his  robes  of  state.  On  the 
benches  round  him  you  saw  all  the  marked  personages  of  Rome: 
the  judges,  the  men  of  letters,  the  nobles,  from  the  lofty  rank 
of  the  Savelli  to  the  inferior  grade  of  a  Raselli.  The  space  be- 
yond the  amphitheatre  was  filled  with  people,  who  now  poured 
fast  in,  stream  after  stream  ;  all  the  while  rang,  clear  and  loud, 
the  great  bell  of  the  church. 

At  length,  as  Adrian  and  Montreal  seated  themselves  at  r. 
little  distance  from  Raimond,  the  bell  suddenly  ceased,  the 
murmurs  of  the  people  were  stilled,  the  purple  curtain  was 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  IO9 

Withdrawn,  and  Rienzi  came  forth  with  slow  and  majestic 
steps.  He  came,  but  not  in  his  usual  sombre  and  plain  attire. 
Over  his  broad  breast  he  wore  a  vest  of  dazzling  whiteness  ;  ? 
long  robe,  in  the  ample  fashion  of  the  toga,  descended  to  his 
feet  and  swept  the  floor.  On  his  head  he  wore  a  fold  of  white 
cloth,  in  the  centre  of  which  shone  a  golden  crown.  But  the 
crown  was  divided,  or  cloven,  as  it  were,  by  the  mystic  orna- 
ment of  a  silver  sword,  which,  attracting  the  universal  atten- 
tion, testified  at  once  that  this  strange  garb  was  worn,  not  from 
fhe  vanity  of  display,  but  for  the  sake  of  presenting  to  the  con- 
course— in  tlie  person  of  the  citizen — a  type  and  emblem  of 
(hat  state  of  the  city  on  which  he  was  about  to  descant. 

"  Faith  !"  whispered  one  of  the  old  nobles  to  his  neighbor, 
'the  plebeian  assumes  it  bravely." 

"  It  will  be  rare  sport,"  said  a  second.  "  I  trust  the  good 
man  will  put  some  jests  in  his  discourse." 

"  What  showman's  tricks  are  these  ?"  said  a  third. 

*'  He  is  certainly  crazed  !  "  said  a  fourth, 

"  How  handsome  he  is  ! "  said  the  women  mixed  with  the 
populace. 

"This  is  a,  man  who  has  learned  the  people  by  heart,"  ob- 
served Montreal  to  Adrian.  **  He  knows  he  must  speak  to  the 
eye,  in  order  to  win  the  mind  :  a  knave,  a  wise  knave  !  " 

And  now  Rienzi  had  ascended  the  scaffold  ;  and  as  he  looked 
long  and  steadfastly  around  the  meeting,  the  high  and  thought, 
ful  repose  of  his  majestic  countenance,  its  deep  and  solemn 
gravity,  hushed  all  the  murmurs,  and  made  its  effect  equally 
felt  by  the  sneering  nobles  as  the  impatient  populace. 

"  Signors  of  Rome,"  said  he  at  length,  **and  ye,  friends  and 

citizens,  you  have  heard  why  we  are  met  together   this  day  ; 

'".nd,  you,  my  Lord  Bishop  of  Orvietto, — and  ye,  fellow-laborers 

with  me  in  the  field  of  letters,  ye,  too,  are  aware  that  it  is  upon 

ome  matter  relative  to  that  ancient  Rome,  the  rise  and   the 

decline  of  whose  past  power  and  glories  we  have  spent  our 

outh  in  endeavoring  to  comprehend.     But  this,  believe  me,  is 

;.o  vain  enigma  of  erudition,  useful  but  to  the  studious, — re- 

-^rring  but  to  the  dead.     Let  the  past  perish  !     Let  darkness 

Jiroud  it  I — let  it  sleep  forever  over  the  crumbling  temples  and 

desolate  tombs  of  its  forgotten  sons, — if  it  cannot   afford   us, 

from  its  disburied  secrets,  a  guide   for  the  present   and  the 

future.     What,  my  lords,  ye  have  thought  that   it  was  for  the 

sake  of  antiquity  alone  that  we  have  wasted  our  nights  and  days 

in  studying  what  antiquity  can  teach  us  !     You  are  mistaken  ; 

it  is  nothing  to  know  wh*t  w«  h#vf  bcem  «pJ**«  i%  i^  wuh  th« 


no  KIENZT, 

desire  of  knowing  that  which  we  ought  to  be.  Our  ancestorg 
are  mere  dust  and  ashes,  save  when  they  speak  to  our  poster- 
ity ;  and  then  their  voices  resound,  not  from  the  earth  below, 
but  the  heaven  above.  There  is  an  eloquence  in  Memory,  be- 
cause it  is  the  nurse  of  Hope.  There  is  a  sanctity  in  the  Past, 
but  only  because  of  the  chronicles  it  retains, — chronicles  of 
the  progress  of  mankind, — stepping-stones  in  civilization,  in 
liberty,  and  in  knowledge.  Our  fathers  forbid  us  to  recede, 
they  teach  us  what  is  our  rightful  heritage  ;  they  bid  us  reclaim, 
they  bid  us  augment  that  heritage, — preserve  their  virtues,  and 
avoid  their  errors.  These  are  the  true  uses  of  the  past.  Like 
the  sacred  edifice  in  which  we  are,  it  is  a  tomb  upon  which  to 
rear  a  temple.  I  see  that  you  marvel  at  this  long  beginning  ; 
ye  look  to  each  other — ye  ask  to  what  it  tends.  Behold  this 
broad  plate  of  iron ;  upon  it  is  graven  an  inscription  but 
lately  disinterred  from  the  heaps  of  stone  and  ruin,  which, — 
O  shame  to  Rome  ! — were  once  the  palaces  of  empire,  and  the 
arches  of  triumphant  power.  The  device  in  the  centre  of  the 
table,  which  you  behold,  conveys  the  act  of  the  Roman  Sena- 
tors, who  are  conferring  upon  Vespasian  the  imperial  authori- 
ty. It  is  this  inscription  which  I  have  invited  you  to  hear  read  ! 
It  specifies  the  very  terms  and  limits  of  the  authority  thus  con- 
ferred. To  the  Emperor  was  confided  the  power  of  making 
laws  and  alliances  with  whatsoever  nation,  of  increasing  or 
of  diminishing  the  limits  of  towns  and  districts  ;  of — mark 
this,  my  lords  I — exalting  men  to  the  rank  of  dukes  and  kings, — 
ay,  and  of  deposing  and  degrading  them  ;  of  making  cities 
and  of  unmaking  ;  in  short  of  all  the  attributes  of  imperial 
power.  Yes,  to  that  Emperor  was  confided  this  vast  authority; 
but  by  whom  ?  Heed,  listen,  I  pray  you — let  not  a  word  be 
Irst  ;  by  whom,  I  say  ?  By  the  Roman  Senate  !  What  was 
the  Roman  Senate  ?  The  representative  of  the  Roman 
People!  " 

"I  knew  he  would  come  to  that!"  said  the  smith,  who 
stood  at  the  door  with  his  fellows,  but  to  whose  ear,  clear  and 
distinct,  rolled  the  silver  voice  of  Rienzi. 

"  Brave  fellow  !  and  this,  too,  in  the  hearing  of  the  lords !  ** 

"  Ay,  you  see  what  the  people  were ;  and  we  should  never 
have  known  this  but  for  him." 

**  Peace,  fellows !  "  said  the  officer  to  those  of  the  crowd 
from  whom  came  these  whispered  sentences.  ^ 

Rie^nzi  continued  :  *'  Yes,  it  is  the  people  who  inixusted  this 
powof — to  the  people,  therefore,  it  belongs!"  Did  the 
ARUjjht^  EmpetQt  Arrogate  the  Grf^wni'    Could  he  assume  th« 


THE   LAST   OP   THE   TRIBUNES.  Ill 

authority  of  himself?  Was  it  bom  with  him  ?  Did  he  derive 
it,  my  Lord  Barons,  from  the  possession  of  towered  castles — 
of  lofty  lineage  ?  No  !  all-powerful  as  he  was,  he  had  no  right 
to  one  atom  of  that  power,  save  from  the  voice  and  trust  of 
the  Roman  people.  Such,  O  my  countrymen  !  such  was,  even 
at  that  day,  when  Liberty  was  but  the  shadow  of  her  former 
self, — such  was  the  acknowledged  prerogative  of  your  fathers  ! 
All  power  was  the  r;ift  of  the  people.  What  have  ye  to  give 
now  ?  Who,  who,  I  say, — what  single  person,  what  petty 
chief,  asks  you  for  the  authority  he  assumes  ?  His  senate  is 
his  sword ;  his  chart  of  license  is  written,  not  with  ink,  but 
blood.  The  people  !  there  is  no  people  !  Oh  !  would  to  God 
that  we  might  disentomb  the  spirit  of  the  Past  as  easily  as  her 
records ! " 

"  If  I  were  your  kinsman,"  whispered  Montreal  to  Adrian, 
"  I  would  give  this  man  short  breathing-time  between  his  pero- 
ration and  confession." 

"What  is  your  Emperor?"  continued  Rienzi ;  "  a  stranger! 
What  the  great  head  of  your  Church  ?  an  exile !  Ye  are 
without  your  lawful  chiefs ;  and  why  ?  Because  ye  are 
not  without  your  law-defying  tyrants  !  The  license  of  your 
nobles,  their  discords,  their  dissensions,  have  driven  our  Holy 
Father  from  the  heritage  of  St.  Peter ;  they  have  bathed  your 
streets  in  your  own  blood  ;  they  have  wasted  the  wealth  of 
your  labors  on  private  quarrels  and  the  maintenance  of  hire- 
ling rufhans !  Your  forces  are  exhausted  against  yourselves. 
You  have  made  a  mockery  of  your  country,  once  the  mistress 
of  the  world.  You  have  steeped  her  lips  in  gall ;  ye  have  set 
a  crown  of  thorns  upon  her  head  !  What,  my  lords  ! "  cried 
he,  turning  sharply  round  towards  the  Savelli  and  Orsini,  who, 
endeavoring  to  shake  off  the  thrill  which  the  fiery  eloquence  of 
Rienzi  had  stricken  to  their  hearts,  now,  by  contemptuous 
gestures  and  scornful  smiles,  testified  the  displeasure  they  dit. 
not  dare  loudly  to  utter  in  the  presence  of  the  Vicar  and  the 
people.  "  What !  even  while  I  speak— not  the  sanctity  of  this 
place  restrains  you  !  I  am  an  humble  man — a  citizen  of  Rome  ; 
but  I  have  this  distinction  :  I  have  raised  against  myself  many 
foes  and  scoffers  for  that  which  I  have  done  for  Rome.  I  am 
hated,  because  I  love  my  country  ;  I  am  despised,  because  I 
would  exalt  her.  I  retaliate — I  shall  be  avenged.  Three  trai- 
tors in  your  own  palaces  shall  betray  you  ;  their  names  are- 
Luxury,  Envy,  and  Dissension  !  " 

*'  There  he  had  them  on  the  hip  !  " 

**  Ha  I  ha  !  by  the  Holy  Cross,  that  was  good ! " 


112  RIENZl, 

"  I  would  go  to  the  hangman  for  such  another  keen  stroke  as 
that." 

"It  is  a  shame  if  7£/^  are  cowards,  when  one  man  is  thus 
brave,"  said  the  smith. 

*'This  is  the  man  we  have  always  wanted  !  '* 

*' Silence  !  "  prochiimed  the  officer. 

*' O  Romans  !"  resunied  Rienzi  passionately;  "awake!  I 
conjr.re  vou  !  Let  this  memorial  of  your  former  power — your 
ancient  liberties — sink  deep  into  your  souls.  In  a  propitious 
rjour,  if  ye  seize  it — in  an  evil  one,  if  ye  suffer  the  golden  on 
portunity  to  escape — has  this  record  of  the  past  been  unfolded 
to  your  eyes.      Recollect  that  the  Jubilee  appioaches." 

The  Bishop  of  Orvietto  smiled,  and  bowed  npprovingly  ;  the 
people,  the  citizens,  the  inferior  nobles,  noted  well  those  signs 
of  encouragement  ;  and,  to  their  minds,  the  Pope  himself,  in 
the  person  of  his  Vicar,  looked  benignly  on  the  daring  of 
Rienzi. 

"The  Jubilee  approaches  ;  the  eyes  of  all  Christendom  will 
be  directed  hither.  Here,  where,  from  ail  quarters  of  the  globe, 
men  come  for  peace,  shall  they  find  discord  ?  seeking  absolu- 
tion, shall  they  perceive  but  crime?  In  the  centre  of  God's 
dominion,  shall  they  weep  at  your  weakness  ?  in  the  seat  of  the 
martyred  saints,  shall  they  shudder  at  your  vices  ?  in  the  foun- 
tain and  source  of  Christ's  law,  shall  they  find  all  law  unknown  ? 
You  were  the  glory  of  the  world;  will  you  be  its  by-word? 
You  were  its  example;  will  you  be  its  warning?  Rise,  while 
it  is  yet  time  !  clear  your  roads  from  the  bandits  that  infest 
them  !  your  walls  from  the  hirelings  that  they  harbor  !  Banish 
these  civil  discords,  or  the  men — how  proud,  how  great,  soever — 
who  maintain  them  !  Pluck  the  scales  from  the  hand  of 
Fraud  !  the  sword  from  the  hand  of  Violence !  The  balance 
and  the  sword  are  the  ancient  attributes  of  Justice  ! — restore 
them  to  her  again  !  This  be  your  high  task  ;  these  be  your 
great  ends  ! — Deem  any  man  who  opposes  them  a  traitor  to  his 
country.  Gain  a  victory  greater  than  those  of  the  Caesars — ?. 
victory  over  yourselves  !  Let  the  pilgrims  of  the  wo»-ld  behold 
the  resurrection  of  Rome  !  Make  one  epoch  of  the  Jubilee  of 
Religion  and  the  Restoration  of  Law!  Lay  the  sacrifice  of 
your  vanquished  passions — the  first  fruits  of  your  renovated 
liberties — upon  the  very  altar  that  these  walls  contain  !  and 
never  !  oh,  never  !  since  the  world  began,  shall  men  have  made 
a  more  grateful  offering  to  their  God  1 " 

So  intense  was  the  sensation  these  words  created  in  the 
audience  ;  so  breathless  and  overpowered  did  they  Uave  the 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    TRIBUNES.  II5 

souls  which  they  took  by  storm  ;  that  Rienzi  had  descended 
the  scaffold,  and  already  disappeared  behind  the  curtain  from 
which  he  had  emerged,  ere  the  crowd  were  fully  aware  that  he 
had  ceased. 

The  singularity  of  this  sudden  apparition — robed  in  myste- 
rious splendor,  and  vanishing  the  moment  its  errand  was  ful- 
filled— gave  additional  effect  to  the  words  it  had  uttered.  The 
whole  character  of  that  bold  address  became  invested  with  a 
something  preternatural  and  inspired ;  to  the  minds  of  the  vul- 
gar the  mortal  was  converted  into  the  oracle  ;  and,  marvelling 
at  the  unhesitating  courage  with  which  their  idol  had  rebuked 
and  conjured  the  haughty  barons, — each  of  whom  they  re- 
garded in  the  light  of  sanctioned  executioners,  whose  anger 
could  be  made  manifest  at  once  by  the  gibbet  or  the  axe, — the 
people  could  not  but  superstitiously  imagine  that  nothing  less 
than  authority  from  above  could  have  gifted  their  leader  with 
such  hardihood,  and  preserved  him  from  the  danger  it  incurred. 
In  fact,  it  was  in  this  very  courage  of  Rienzi  that  his 
safety  consisted  ;  he  was  placed  in  those  circumstances  where 
audacity  is  prudence.  Had  he  been  less  bold,  the  nobles  would 
have  been  more  severe  ;  but  so  great  a  license  of  speech  in  an 
officer  of  the  Holy  See,  they  naturally  imagined  was  not  unau- 
thorized by  the  assent  of  the  Pope,  as  well  as  by  the  approba- 
tion of  the  people.  Those  who  did  not  (like  Stephen  Colonna) 
despise  words  as  wind,  shrank  back  from  the  task  of  punishing 
one  whose  voice  might  be  the  mere  echo  of  the  wishes  of  the 
pontiff.  The  dissensions  of  the  nobles  among  each  other  were 
no  less  favorable  to  Rienzi.  He  attacked  a  body,  the  members 
of  which  had  no  union. 

"It  is  not  my  duty  to  slay  him  !  "  said  one. 

"I  am  not  the  representative  of  the  barons!"  said 
another. 

*'  If  Stephen  Colonna  heeds  him  not,  it  would  be  absurd,  as 
well  as  dangerous,  in  a  meaner  man  to  make  himself  the  cham- 
pion of  the  order  !  '*  said  a  third. 

Then  Colonna  smiled  approval  when  Rienzi  denounced  an 
Orsini  ;  an  O^sini  laughed  aloud  when  the  eloquence  burst  over 
a  Colonna.  The  lesser  nobles  were  well  pleased  to  hear  attacks 
upon  both  :  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Bishop,  by  the  long 
impunity  of  Rienzi,  had  taken  courage  to  sanction  the  conduct 
of  his  fellow-officer.  He  affected,  indeed,  at  times,  to  blame 
the  excess  of  his  fervor,  but  it  was  always  accompanied  by  the 
praises  of  his  honesty  ;  and  the  approbation  of  the  Pope's  Vicar 
confirmed  the  impression  of  the  nobles  as  to  the  approbation 


114  RIENZr, 

of  the  Pope.     Thus  from  the  very  rashness  of  his  enthusiasnj 
had  grown  his  security  and  success. 

Still,  however,  when  the  barons  had  a  little  recovered  from 
the  stupor  into  which  Rienzi  had  cast  them,  they  looked  round 
to  each  other  ;  and  their  looks  confessed  their  sense  of  the 
insolence   of  the  orator,  and  the  affront  offered  to  themselves. 

^'  Per  fede  !  "  quoth  Reginaldo  di  Orsini,  "  this  is  past  bear- 
ing ;  the  plebeian  has  gone  too  far  !  "  J 

"  Look  at  the  populace  below  !  how  they  murmur  and  gape  ;. 
and  how  their  eyes  sparkle  ;  and  what  looks  they  bend  at  us!" 
said  Luca  di  Savellito  his  mortal  enemy,  Castruccio  Malatesta; 
the  sense  of  a  common  danger  united  in  one  moment,  but  only 
for  EL  moment,  the  enmity  of  years. 

"  Diavolo !  "  muttered  Raselli  (Nina's  father)  to  a  baron, 
equally  poor,  **  but  the  clerk  has  truth  in  his  lips.  'Tis  a  pity 
he  is  not  noble." 

"  What  a  clever  brain  marred  !  "  said  a  Florentine  merchant. 
"That  man  might  be  something  if  he  were  sufficiently  rich." 

Adrian  and  Montreal  were  silent :  the  first  seemed  lost  in 
thought;  the  last  was  watching  the  various  effects  produced 
upon  the  audience. 

"  Silence  !  "  proclaimed  the  officers.  "  Silence,  for  my  Lord 
Vicar." 

At  this  announcement  every  eye  turned  to  Raimond,  who, 
rising  with  much  clerical  importance,  thus  addressed  the 
assembly  : 

**  Although,  Barons  and  Citizens  of  Rome,  my  well-beloved 
flock,  and  children,  I,  no  more  than  yourselves,  anticipated  the 
exact  nature  of  the  address  ye  have  just  heard  ;  and  albeit  I 
cannot  feel  unalloyed  contentment  at  the  manner,  nor,  I  niay 
say,  at  the  whole  matter  of  that  fervent  exhortation  ;  ir/  (laying 
great  emphasis  on  the  last  word),  I  cannot  suffer  you  to  depart 
without  adding  to  the  prayers  of  our  Holy  Father's  servant, 
those,  also,  of  his  Holiness's  spiritual  representative.  It  is 
true  !  the  Jubilee  approaches  !  The  Jubilee  approaches  ;  and 
jret  our  roads,  even  to  the  gates  of  Rome,  are  infested  with 
murderous  and  godless  ruffians  !  What  pilgrim  can  venture 
across  the  Apennines  to  worship  at  the  altars  of  St.  Peter? 
The  Jubilee  approaches  :  what  scandal  shall  it  be  to  Rome  if 
these  shrines  be  without  pilgrims  !  if  the  timid  recoil  from,  if 
the  bold  fall  victims  to,  the  dangers  of  the  way  !  Wherefore, 
I  pray  you  all,  citizens  and  chiefs  alike, — I  pray  you  all  to  lay 
aside  those  unhappy  dissensions  which  have  so  long  consumed 
the  strength  of  our  sacred  city  ,  and,  uniting  with  each  othei 


THE    LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  Ilg 

in  the  ties  of  amity  and  brotherhood,  to  form  a  blessed  league 
against  the  marauders  of  the  road.  I  see  amongst  you,  my 
lords,  many  of  the  boasts  and  pillars  of  the  state  ;  but,  alas  ! 
I  think  with  grief  and  dismay  on  the  causeless  and  idle  hatred 
that  has  grown  up  between  you  ! — a  scandal  to  our  city,  and  re- 
flecting, let  me  add,  my  lords,  no  honor  on  your  faith  as  Chris- 
tians, nor  on  your  dignity  as  defenders  of  the  Church." 

Amongst  the  inferior  nobles;  along  the  seats  of  the  judges 
and  the  men  of  letters  ;  through  the  vast  concourse  of  the  peo- 
ple— ran  a  loud  murmur  of  approbation  at  these  words.  The 
greater  barons  looked  proudly,  but  not  contemptuously,  at  the 
countenance  of  the  prelate,  and  preserved  a  strict  and  unre- 
vealing  silence. 

"  In  this  holy  spot,"  continued  the  Bishop,  "let  me  beseech 
you  to  bury  those  fruitless  animosities  which  have  already  cost 
enough  of  blood  and  treasure  ;  and  let  us  quit  these  walls  with 
one  common  determination  to  evince  our  courage  and  display 
our  chivalry  only  against  our  universal  foes — those  ruffians  who 
lay  waste  our  .fields,  and  infest  our  public  ways  ;  the  foes  alike 
of  the  people  we  should  protect,  and  the  God  whom  we  should 
serve  ! " 

The  Bishop  resumed  his  seat ;  the  nobles  looked  at  each 
other  without  reply ;  the  people  began  to  whisper  loudly 
among  themselves  ;  when,  after  a  short  pause,  Adrian  di  Cas- 
tello  rose. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  lords,  and  you,  reverend  father,  if  I,  inex- 
perienced in  years  and  of  little  mark  or  dignity  amongst  you, 
presume  to  be  the  first  to  embrace  the  proposal  we  have  just 
heard.  Willingly  do  I  renounce  all  ancient  cause  of  enmity 
with  any  of  my  compeers.  Fortunately  for  me,  my  long  ab- 
sence from  Rome  has  swept  from  my  remembrance  the  feuds 
and  rivalries  familiar  to  my  early  youth  ;  and  in  this  noble 
conclave  I  see  but  one  man  (glancing  at  Martino  di  Porto, 
who  sat  sullenly  looking  down)  against  whom  I  have,  at  any 
time,  deemed  it  a  duty  to  draw  my  sword  ;  the  gage  that  I 
once  cast  to  that  noble  is  yet,  I  rejoice  to  think,  unredeemed. 
I  withdraw  it.  Henceforth  my  only  foes  shall  be  the  foes  of 
Rome  ! " 

"  Nobly  spoken  !  "  said  the  Bishop,  aloud. 
"  And,"  continued  Adrian,  casting  down  his  glove  amongst 
the  nobles,  "I  throw,  my  lords,  the  gage,  thus  resumed, 
amongst  you  all^  in  cliallenge  to  A  wider  rivalry,  and  a  more 
noble  field.  I  "i^ivite  any  Uian  to  V'i'e  with  me  in  the  «eal  that 
4i«  *H^4  %h^^^  tft  restore  traftquiUuy  to  our  rotds»  tnd  order  to 


Il6  RIENZI, 

our  State.  It  is  a  contest  in  which,  if  I  be  vanquished  with 
reluctance,  I  will  yield  the  prize  without  envy.  In  ten  days 
from  this  time,  reverend  Father,  I  will  raise  forty  horsemen-at- 
arms,  ready  to  obey  whatever  orders  shall  be  agreed  upon  for 
the  security  of  the  Roman  vState.  And  you,  O  Romans,  dis- 
miss, I  pray  you,  from  your  minds,  tliose  eloquent  invectives 
against  your  fellow-citizens  which  ye  have  lately  heard.  All 
of  us,  of  what  rank  soever,  may  have  shared  in  the  excesses  of 
these  unhappy  times ;  let  us  endeavor,  not  to  avenge  nor  to 
imitate,  but  to  reform  and  to  unite.  And  may  the  people 
Hereafter  find,  that  the  true  boast  of  a  patrician  is,  that  his 
power  the  better  enables  him  to  serve  his  country." 

"Brave  words  !"  quoth  the  smith  sneeringly. 

"If  they  were  all  like  him  ! "  said  the  smith's  neighbor. 

"  He  has  helped  the  nobles  out  of  a  dilemma,"  said  Pandulfo. 

"He  has  shown  gray  wit  under  young  hairs,"  said  an  aged 
Malatesta. 

"You  have  turned  the  tide,  but  not  stemmed  it,  noble 
Adrian,"  whispered  the  ever-boding  Montreal,  as,  amidst  the 
murmurs  of  the  general  approbation,  the  young  Colonna  re- 
sumed his  seat. 

"How  mean  you?"  said  Adrian. 

"That  your  soft  words,  like  all  patrician  conciliations,  have 
come  too  late." 

Not  another  noble  stirred,  though  they  felt,  perhaps,  dis- 
posed to  join  in  the  general  feeling  of  amnesty,  and  appeared, 
by  signs  and  whispers,  to  applaud  the  speech  of  Adrian.  They 
were  too  habituated  to  the  ungracefulness  of  an  unlettered 
pride,  to  bow  themselves  to  address  conciliating  language 
either  to  the  people  or  their  foes.  And  Raimond,  glancing 
round,  and  not  willing  that  their  unseemly  silence  should  be 
long  remarked,  rose  at  once,  to  give  it  the  best  construction  i"^ 
his  power. 

'*My  son,  thou  hast  spoken  as  a  patriot  and  a  Christian  ;  by 
the  approving  silence  of  your  peers  we  all  feel  that  they  share 
your  sentiments.  Break  we  up  the  meeting ;  its  end  is  ob- 
tained. The  manner  of  our  proceeding  against  the  leagued 
robbers  of  the  road  requires  maturer  consideration  elsewhere. 
This  day  shall  be  an  epoch  in  our  history." 

"It  shall,"  quoth  Cecco  del  Vecchio  gruffly,  between  his 
teeth. 

"Children^  my  1  lessing  uj^3on  you  all!''  concludcu  the 
Vicar,  sprc.idiiig  his  arms. 

And  m  *  fev'  44*jiaute?  morft  th;     rowd  poured  itom  tht 


TME   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  ttf 

church.  The  different  :  ervitors  and  flag-bearers  ranged  them- 
selves on  the  steps  without,  each  train  anxious  for  their 
master's  precedence ;  and  the  nobles,  gravely  collecting  in 
small  knots,  in  the  which  was  no  mixture  of  rival  blood,  fol- 
lowed the  crowd  down  the  aisles.  Soon  rose  again  the  din, 
and  the  noise,  and  the  wrangling,  and  the  oaths,  of  the  hostile 
bands,  as,  with  pain  and  labor,  the  Vicar's  officers  marshalled 
them  in  ''order  most  disorderly  " 

But  so  true  were  Montreal's  words  to  Adrian,  that  the  popr- 
lace  already  half  forgot  the  young  noble's  generous  appeal, 
and  were  only  bitterly  commenting  on  the  ungracious  silence 
of  his  brother  lords.  What,  too,  to  them  was  this  crusade 
against  the  robbers  of  the  road?  They  blamed  the  good 
Bishop  for  not  saying  boldly  to  the  nobles  :  "  Ve  are  the  first 
robbers  we  must  march  against  !  "  The  popular  discontents 
had  gone  far  beyond  palliatives  ;  they  had  arrived  at  that 
point  when  the  people  longed  less  for  reform  than  change 
There  are  times  when  a  revolution  cannot  be  warded  off  ;  it 
must  come — come  alike  by  resistance  or  by  concession.  Woe 
to  that  race  in  v/hich  a  revolution  produces  no  fruits  !  in 
which  the  thunderbolt  smites  the  high  place,  but  does  not 
purify  the  air  I  To  suffer  in  vain  is  often  the  lot  of  the  noblesi 
individuals  :  but  when  a  People  suffer  in  vain,  let  them  curse 
themselves ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    AMBITIOUS   CITIZEN,    AND    THE    AMBITIOUS   SOLDIER. 

The  Bishop  of  Orvietto  lingered  last,  to  confer  with  Rienzl, 
who  awaited  him  in  the  recesses  of  the  Lateran.  Raimond 
had  the  penetration  not  to  be  seduced  into  believing  that  the 
Jate  scene  could  effect  any  reformation  amongst  the  nobles,  hea* 
their  divisions,  or  lead  them  actively  against  the  infestors  of  the 
Campagna.  But,  as  he  detailed  to  Rienzi  all  that  had  occurred 
"ubsequent  to  the  departure  of  that  hero  of  the  scene,  he  »-ou- 
cluded  with  saying : 

"You  will  perceive  from  this,  one  good  result  v»^ill  be  pro- 
duced :  the  first  armed  dissension — the  first  fray  among  the 
nobles — will  seem  like  a  breach  of  promise ;  and,  to  the  people 
and  to  the  Pope,  a  reasonable  excuse  for  despairing  of  all 
amendment  amongst  the  Barons — an  excuse  which  will  sanction 
xhe  efforts  of  the  first,  and  the  approval  of  the  last." 

*'For  such  a  fray  we  shall  net  long  wait."  answered  Rienzi, 


"I  believe  the  prophecy,"  answered  Raimond,  smiling;  ^'at 
present  all  runs  well.     Go  you  with  us  homeward  ?" 

"  Nay,  I  think  it  better  to  tarry  Iicrc  till  the  crowd  is  en- 
tirely dispersed  ;  for  if  they  were  to  sec  me,  in  their  present 
excitement,  they  might  insist  on  some  rash  and  hasty  enter- 
prise. Besides,  my  lord,"  added  Rienzi,  *Svith  an  ignorant 
people,  however  honest  and  enthusiastic,  this  rule  must  be 
rigidly  observed — stale  not  your  presence  by  custom.  Neve. 
may  men  like  me,  who  have  no  external  rank,  appear  amongst 
the  crowd,  save  on  those  occasions  when  the  mind  is  itself 
a  rank." 

"That  is  true,  as  you  have  no  train,"  answered  Raimond, 
thinking  of  his  own  well-liveried  menials.  ''Adieu,  then!  we 
shall  meet  soon." 

*'Ay,  at  Philippi,  my  lord.  Reverend  Father,  your  bless- 
ing ^  " 

It  was  some  time  subsequent  to  this  conference  that  Rienzi 

quitted  the  sacred  edifice.  As  he  stood  on  the  steps  of  the 
church — now  silent  and  deserted — the  hour  that  precedes  the 
brief  twilight  of  the  South  lent  its  magic  to  the  view.  There 
he  beheld  the  sweeping  arches  of  the  mighty  Aqueduct  extend- 
ing far  along  the  scene,  and  backed  by  the  distant  and  purpled 
hills.  Before,  to  the  right,  rose  the  gate  which  took  its  Roman 
name  from  the  Coelian  Mount,  at  whose  declivity  it  yet  stands. 
Beyond,  from  the  height  of  the  steps,  he  saw  the  villages  scat- 
tered through  the  gray  Campagna,  whitening  in  the  sloped  sun  ; 
and  in  the  furthest  distance  the  mountain  shadows  began  to 
darken  over  the  roofs  of  the  ancient  Tusculum,  and  the  second 
Alban*  city,  which  yet  rises,  in  desolate  neglect,  above  the  van- 
ished palaces  of  Pompey  and  Domitian. 

The  Roman  stood  absorbed  and  motionless  for  some  moments, 
gazing  on  the  scene,  and  inhaling  the  sweet  balm  of  the  mellow 
air.  It  was  the  soft  spring-time — the  season  of  flowers,  and 
green  leaves,  and  whispering  winds — the  pastoral  May  of  Italia' 
poets :  but  hushed  was  the  voice  of  song  on  the  banks  of  the 
Tiber ;  the  reeds  gave  music  no  more.  From  the  sacred 
Mount  in  which  Saturn  held  his  home,  the  Dryad  and  the 
Nymph,  and  Italy's  native  Sylvan,  were  gone  forever.  Rienzi's 
original  nature — its  enthusiasm  ;  its  veneration  for  the  past ; 
its  love  of  the  beautiful  and  the  great  ;  that  very  attachment 
to  the  graces  and  pomp  which  give  so  floric^,  a  character  to  the 
harsh  realities  of  life,  and  which   power  afterwards  too   luxuri- 

*  The  first  Alba — the  Alba  Longa — whose  origin  Fable  ascribes  to  Ascaniiis,  was  de- 
Jtr«yed  by  Tulliis  Hostilius.  The  second  Alba,  or  modern  Albano,  was  erected  on  thc 
plain  below  the  ancient  town,  a  little  before  th«  time  of  Mero* 


THE   LAST  OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  11^ 

antly  developed  ;  the  exuberance  of  thoughts  and  fancies, 
which  poured  itself  from  his  lips  in  so  brilliant  and  inexhausti- 
ble a  flood — all  bespoke  those  intellectual  and  imaginative 
biasses,  which,  in  calmer  times,  might  have  raised  him  in 
literature  to  a  more  indisputable  eminence  than  that  to  which 
action  can  ever  lead  ;  and  something  of  such  consciousnesa 
crossed  his  spirit  at  that  moment. 

"  Happier  had  it  been  for  me,"  thought  he,  "  had  I  never 
looked  out  from  my  own  heart  upon  the  world.  I  had  all 
within  me  that  makes  contentment  of  the  present,  because  I 
had  that  which  can  make  me  forget  the  present.  I  had  the 
power  to  repeople — to  create  the  legends  and  dreams  of  old; 
the  divine  faculty  of  verse,  in  which  the  beautiful  superfluities 
of  the  heart  can  pour  themselves — these  v/ere  mine  !  Petrarch 
chose  wisely  for  himself  !  To  address  the  world,  but  from 
without  the  world  ;  to  persuade  ;  to  excite  ;  to  command — for 
these  are  the  aim  and  glory  of  ambition  :  but  to  shun  its  tu- 
mult, and  its  toil  !  His  the  quiet  cell  which  he  fills  with  the 
shapes  of  beauty  ;  the  solitude,  from  which  he  can  banish  the 
evil  times  whereon  we  are  fallen,  but  in  which  he  can  dream 
back  the  great  hearts  and  the  glorious  epochs  of  the  past.  For 
me — to  what  cares  I  am  wedded  !  to  what  labors  I  am  bound ! 
what  instruments  I  must  use  !  what  disguises  I  must  assume  ! 
to  tricks  and  artifice  I  must  bow  my  pride !  base  are  my  ene- 
mies ;  uncertain  my  friends,  and  verily,  in  this  struggle  with 
blinded  and  mean  men,  the  soul  itself  becomes  warped  and 
dwarfish.  Patient  and  darkling,  the  Means  creep  through 
caves  and  the  soiling  mire,  to  gain  at  last  the  light  which  is  the 
End." 

In  these  reflections  there  was  a  truth,  the  whole  gloom  and 
sadness  of  which  the  Roman  had  not  yet  experienced.  How- 
ever august  be  the  object  we  propose  to  ourselves,  every  less 
worthy  path  we  take  to  insure  it  distorts  the  mental  sight  of 
our  ambition  ;  and  the  means  by  degrees  abase  the  end  to 
their  own  standard.  This  is  the  true  misfortune  of  a  man 
nobler  than  his  age — that  the  instrumcHts  he  must  use  soil  him- 
self :  half  he  reforms  his  times ;  but  half,  too,  the  times  wilj 
corrupt  the  reformer.  His  own  craft  undermines  his  safety  ; 
the  people,  whom  he  himself  accustoms  to  a  false  excitement, 
perpetually  crave  it ;  and  when  their  ruler  ceases  to  seduce 
their  fancy,  he  falls  their  victim.  The  reform  he  makes  by 
these  means  is  hollow  and  momentary  ;  it  is  swept  away  with 
himself  :  it  was  but  the  trick,  the  show,  the  wasted  genius  of  a 
nonjuror  ;  the  curtain  falls — the  magic  is  pv^r — the  cup  and 


120  RIENZI, 

balls  are  kicked  aside.  Better  one  slow  step  in  enlightenment— 
which  being  made  by  the  reason  of  a  whole  people,  cannot 
recede — than  these  sudden  flashes  in  the  depth  of  the  general 
night,  which  the  darkness,  by  contrast  doubly  dark,  swallows 
up  everlastingly  again. 

As  slowly  and  musingly  Rienzi  turned  to  quit  the  church,  he 
felt  a  light  touch  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  Fair  evening  to  you,  Sir  Scholar,"  said  a  frank  voice. 

**To  you  I  return  the  courtesy,"  answered  Rienzi,  gazing 
upon  the  person  who  thus  suddenly  accosted  him,  and  in  whose 
white  cross  and  martial  bearing  the  reader  recognizes  the 
Knight  of  St.  John. 

"You  know  me  not,  I  think?"  said  Montreal;  "but  that 
matters  little,  we  may  easily  commence  our  acquaintance  ;  for 
me,  indeed,  I  am  fortunate  enough  to  have  made  myself  already 
acquainted  with  you." 

'*  Possibly  we  have  met  elsewhere,  at  the  house  of  one  of 
those  nobles  to  whose  rank  you  seem  to  belong  ? " 

"  Belong  !  no  not  exactly  !  "  returned  Montreal  proudly. 
**  High-born  and  great  as  your  magnates  deem  themselves,  I 
would  not,  while  the  mountains  can  yield  one  free  spot  for  my 
footstep,  change  my  place  in  the  world's  many  grades  for  theirs. 
To  the  brave  there  is  but  one  sort  of  plebeian,  and  that  is  the 
coward.  But  you,  sage  Rienzi,"  continued  the  knight,  in  a 
gayer  tone,  "  I  have  seen  in  more  stirring  scenes  than  the  hall 
of  a  Roman  Baron." 

Rienzi  glanced  keenly  at  Montreal,  who  met  his  eye  with  an 
open  brow. 

"Yes!"  resumed  the  Knight;  "but  let  us  walk  on  ;  suffer 
me  for  a  few  moments  to  be  your  companion.  Yes  !  I  have 
listened  to  you — the  other  eve,  when  you  addressed  the  popu^ 
lace,  and  to-day,  when  you  rebuked  the  nobles;  and  at  mid- 
night, too,  not  long  since,  when  (your  ear,  fair  sir  ! — lower,  it  is 
a  secret !) — at  midnight,  too,  when  you  administered  the  oath 
of  brotherhood  to  the  bold  conspirators,  on  the  ruined  Aven- 
tine  ! " 

As  he  concluded  the  Knight  drew  himself  aside  to  watch^ 
upon  Rienzi's  countenance,  the  effect  which  hrs  words  might 
produce. 

A  slight  tremor  passed  over  the  frame  of  the  conspirator—' 
for  so,  unless  the  conspiracy  succeed,  would  Rienzi  be  termed, 
by  others  than   Montreal  ;  he  turned  abruptly  around  to  con- 
front  the   Knight,   and  placed   his  hand   involuntarily  on  his 
sword,  but  presently  relinquished  the  grasp. 


THE    LAST    OF    xHE    TRIBUNES.  12* 

"  Ha  !  "  said  the  Roman  slowly,  *'  if  this  be  true,  fall  Rome  \ 
There  is  treason  even  among  the  free  !  " 

*'  No  treason,  brave  sir  !  "  answered  Montreal  ;  "  I  possess 
thy  secret,  but  none  have  betrayed  it  to  me." 

**  And  is  it  as  friend  or  foe  that  thou  hast  learned  it  ?  " 

"  That  as  it  may  be,"  returned  Montreal  carelessly. 
**  Enough,  at  present,  that  I  could  send  thee  to  the  gibbet,  if  I 
said  but  the  v/ord,  to  sho\/  my  power  to  be  thy  foe  ;  enough 
that  I  have  not  done  it,  to  prove  my  disposition  to  be  thy 
friend." 

*'  Thou  mistakest,  stranger  !  that  man  does  not  live  who 
could  shed  my  blood  in  the  streets  of  Rome  !  The  gibbet ! 
Little  dost  thou  know  of  the  power  which  surrounds  Rienzi." 

These  words  were  said  with  some  scorn  and  bitterness  ;  but, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  Rienzi  resumed  more  calmly  : 

*'  By  the  cross  on  thy  mantle  thou  belongest  to  one  of  the 
proudest  orders  of  knighthood  :  thou  art  a  foreigner  and  a 
cavalier.  What  generous  sympathy  can  convert  thee  into  a 
friend  of  the  Roman  people  ?  " 

"  Cola  di  Rienzi,"  returned  Montreal,  "  the  sympathies  that 
unite  us  are  those  that  unite  all  men,  who,  by  their  own  efforts, 
rise  above  the  herd.  True,  I  was  born  noble,  but  powerless 
and  poor :  at  my  beck  now  move,  from  city  to  city,  the  armed 
instruments  of  authority  ;  my  breath  is  the  law  of  thousands. 
This  empire  I  have  not  inherited  ;  I  won  it  by  a  cool  brain  and 
a  fearless  arm.  Know  me  for  Walter  de  Montreal  ;  is  it  not  a 
name  that  speaks  a  spirit  kindred  to  thine  own  ?  Is  not  ambi- 
tion a  common  sentiment  between  us  ?  I  do  not  marshal  sol- 
diers for  gain  only,  though  men  have  termed  me  avaricious  • 
nor  butcher  peasants  for  the  love  of  blood,  though  men  have 
called  me  cruel.  Arms  and  wealth  are  the  sinews  of  power  ; 
it  is  power  that  I  desire  ;  thou,  bold  Rienzi,  strugglest  thou 
not  for  the  same  ?  Is  it  the  rank  breath  of  the  garlic-chewing 
mob  :  is  it  the  whispered  envy  of  schoolmen  ;  is  it  the  hollow 
mouthing  of  boys  who  call  thee  patriot  and  freeman — words  to 
trick  the  ear — that  will  content  thee  ?  These  are  but  ///y  instru- 
ments Xo  power.     Have  I  spoken  truly  ?" 

Whatever  distaste  Rienzi  might  conceive  at  this  speech,  he 
masked  effectually.  "  Certes,"  said  he,  "  it  would  be  in  vain, 
renowned  captain,  to  deny  that  I  seek  but  that  power  of  which 
thou  speakest.  But  what  union  can  there  be  between  the  am- 
bition of  a  Roman  citizen  and  the  leader  of  paid  armies  that 
take  their  cuise  only  according  to  their  hire — to-dav,  fight  for 
liMcrty  in  Fiorenge  j  to-inoirpw,  tor  tyranny  in  Bologna?     Par 


S99  RTENZI, 

don  my  frankness  ;  for  in  this  age  that  is  deemed  no  disgrace 
which  I  impute  to  thy  armies.  Valor  and  generalship  are  held 
to  consecrate  any  cause  they  distinguish  ;  and  he  who  is  the 
master  of  princes  may  be  well  honored  by  them  as  their 
equal." 

**  We  are  entering  into  a  les«  deserted  quarter  of  the  town," 
^aid  the  Knight:  "is  there  no  secret  place — no  Aventine — in 
•Jiis  direction,  where  we  can  confer  ?  " 
[  "  Hush  !  "  replied  Rienzi,  cautiously  looking  round.  "  I 
)  thank  thee,  noble  Montreal,  for  the  hint  ;  nor  may  it  be  well 
ior  us  to  be  seen  together.  Wilt  thou  deign  to  follow  me  to 
my  home,  by  the  Palatine  Bridge  ?*  there  we  can  converse  un- 
disturbed and  secure." 

'*  Be  it  so,"  said  Montreal,  falling  back. 

With  a  quick  and  hurried  step  Rienzi  passed  through  the 
town,  in  which,  wherever  he  was  discovered,  the  scattered 
citizens  saluted  him  with  marked  respect  ;  and  turning  through 
a  labyrinth  of  dark  alleys,  as  if  to  shun  the  more  public  thor- 
oughfares, arrived  at  length  at  a  broad  space  near  the  river. 
The  first  stars  of  night  shone  down  on  the  ancient  temple  of 
Fortuna  Virilis,  which  the  chances  of  time  had  already  converted 
into  the  Church  of  St.  Mary  of  Egypt ;  and  facing  the  twice- 
hallowed  edifice  stood  the  house  of  Rienzi. 

*'  It  is  a  fair  omen  to  have  my  mansion  facing  the  ancient 
Temple  of  Fortune,"  said  Rienzi,  smiling,  as  Montreal  fol- 
lowed the  Roman  into  the  chamber  I  have  already  de- 
scribed. 

"  Yet  Valor  need  never  pray  to  Fortune,"  said  the  Knight ; 
'*  the  first  commands  the  last." 

Long  was  the  conference  between  these  two  men,  the  most 
enterprising  of  their  age.  Meanwhile,  let  me  make  the  reader 
somewhat  better  acquainted  with  the  character  and  designs  of 
Montreal  than  the  hurry  of  events  has  yet  permitted  him  to 
become. 

Walter  de  Montreal,  generally  known  in  the  chronicles  of 
Italy  by  the  designation  of  Fra  Moreale,  had  passed  into  Italy, 
a  bold  adventurer,  worthy  to  become  a  successor  of  those  rov- 
ing Normans  (from  one  of  the  most  eminent  of  whom,  by  the 
mother's  side,  he  claimed  descent)  who  had  formerly  played  so 
strange  a  part  in  the  chivalric  errantry  of  Europe, — realizing 

*  The  picturesque  ruins  shown  at  this  day  as  having  once  been  the  habitation  of  the 
celebrated  Cola  di  Rien/i  wevfr  icjni;  asserted  by  the  aiuii]u;(rians  to  have  belonged  to  an- 
)ther  Cola  or  Nicola.  1  believe,  hnwevcr.  thr  dispute  h.is  hecn  lately  decided  ;  and,  in» 
ieed,  no  one  but  an  anti  iimry.  anr"  that  a  Koinun  one,  coiild  suppose  that  there  WCrc  |WQ 
Colas  to  whom  the  inscription  on  \.t\^  hou§«  wov'tl  apply. 


THE    LAST   OP    THE    TRIBUNES.  I23 

the  fables  of  Amadis  and  Palmerin  (each  knight  in  himself  a 
host),  winning  territories  and  oversetting  thrones  ;  acknowl- 
edging no  laws  save  those  of  knighthood  ;  never  confounding 
themselves  with  the  tribe  amongst  which  they  settled  ;  incap- 
able of  becoming  citizens,  and  scarcely  contented  with  aspiring 
to  become  kings.  At  that  time  Italy  was  the  India  of  all  those 
well-born  and  penniless  adventurers  who,  like  Montreal,  had 
inflamed  their  imagination  by  the  ballads  and  legends  of  the 
Roberts  and  the  Godfreys  of  old  ;  who  had  trained  themselves 
from  youth  to  manage  the  barb,  and  bear,  through  the  heats  of 
summer,  the  weight  of  arms  ;  and  who,  passing  into  an  effem- 
inate and  distracted  land,  had  only  to  exhibit  bravery  in  order  to 
command  wealth.  It  was  considered  no  disgrace  for  some 
powerful  chieftain  to  collect  together  a  band  of  these  hardy 
aliens  ;  to  subsist  amidst  the  mountains  on  booty  and  pillage  ; 
to  make  war  upon  tyrant  or  republic,  as  interest  suggested,  and 
to  sell,  at  enormous  stipends,  the  immunities  of  peace.  Some- 
times they  hired  themselves  to  one  State  to  protect  it  against 
the  other,  and  the  next  year  beheld  them  in  the  field  against 
their  former  employers.  These  bands  of  Northern  stipendiaries 
assumed,  therefore,  a  civile  c.z  well  as  a  military  importance  ; 
they  were  ao  indispensable  to  the  safety  of  one  State  as  they 
were  destructive  to  the  securit}'  of  all.  But  five  years  before 
the  Florentine  Republic  had  hired  the  services  of  a  celebrated 
leader  of  these  foreign  coldiers, — Gualticr,  Duke  of  Athens.  By 
acclamation  the  people  themselves  had  elected  that  warrior  to 
the  state  of  prince,  or  tyrant,  of  their  State  ;  before  the 
year  was  completed  they  revolted  against  his  cruelties,  or 
rather  against  his  exactions, — for,  despite  all  the  boasts  of 
their  historians,  they  felt  an  attack  on  their  purses  more 
deeply  than  an  assault  on  their  liberties, — they  had  chased  him 
from  their  city,  and  once  more  proclaimed  themselves  a  repub- 
lic The  bravest  and  most  favored  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Duke 
of  Athens  had  been  Walter  dc  Montreal  ;  he  had  shared  the  rise 
and  the  downfall  of  his  chief.  Amongst  popular  commotions, 
the  acute  and  observant  mind  of  the  Knight  of  St.  John  had 
learned  no  mean  civil  experience  ;  he  had  learned  to  sound  a 
people;  to  know  how  far  they  would  endure  ;  to  construe  the 
signs  of  revolution  ;  to  be  a  reader  of  the  times.  After  the 
downfall  of  the  Duke  of  Athens,  as  a  Free  Companion,  in  other 
words  a  Freebooter,  Montreal  had  augmented,  under  the 
fierce  Werner,  his  riches  and  his  renown.  At  present  witliout 
employment  worthy  his  spirit  of  enterprise  and  intrigue,  the 
disordered  and  chiefless   state   of   Rome   had   attracted   hira 


1^4  RIEN2I, 

thither.  In  the  league  he  had  proposed  to  Colonna  ;  in  the 
suggestions  he  had  made  to  the  vanity  of  that  Signor,  his  own 
object  was  to  render  his  services  indispensable — to  constitute 
himself  the  head  of  the  soldiery  whom  his  proposed  designs 
would  render  necessary  to  the  ambition  of  the  Colonna,  could 
it  be  excited  ;  and  in  the  vastness  of  his  hardy  genius  for  enter- 
prise, he  probably  foresaw  that  the  command  of  such  a  force 
would  be,  in  reality,  the  command  of  Rome  ;  a  counter-revolu- 
tion might  easily  unseat  the  Colonna  and  elect  himself  to  the 
principality.  It  had  sometimes  been  the  custom  of  Roman,  as 
of  other  Italian  States,  to  prefer  for  a  chief  magistrate,  under 
the  title  of  Fodesta,  a  foreigner  to  a  native.  And  Montreal 
hoped  that  he  might  possibly  become  to  Rome  what  the  Duke 
of  Athens  had  been  to  Florence — an  ambition  he  knew  well 
enough  to  be  above  the  gentleman  of  Provence,  but  not  above 
the  leader  of  an  army.  But,  as  we  have  already  seen,  his 
sagacity  perceived  at  once  that  he  could  not  move  the  aged 
head  of  the  patricians  to  those  hardy  and  perilous  measures 
which  were  necessary  to  the  attainment  of  supreme  power. 
Contented  with  his  present  station,  and  taught  moderation  by 
his  age  and  his  past  reverses,  Stephen  Colonna  was  not  the 
man  to  risk  a  scaffold  from  the  hope  to  gain  a  throne.  The 
contempt  which  the  old  patrician  professed  for  the  people  and 
their  idol  also  taught  the  deep-thinking  Montreal  that,  if  the 
Colonna  possessed  not  the  ambition,  neither  did  he  possess  the 
policy,  requisite  for  empire.  The  Knight  found  his  caution 
against  Rienzi  in  vain,  and  he  turned  to  Rienzi  himself.  Little 
cared  the  Knight  of  St.  John  which  party  were  uppermost — 
prince  or  people — so  that  his  own  objects  were  attained  ;  in 
fact,  he  had  studied  the  humors  of  a  people,  not  in  order  to 
serve,  but  to  rule  them  ;  and,  believing  all  men  actuated  by  r. 
similar  ambition,  he  imagined  that,  whether  a  demagogue  or 
a  patrician  reigned,  the  people  were  equally  to  be  victims,  and 
that  the  cry  of  "Order"  on  the  one  hand,  or  of  "  Liberty" 
on  the  other,  was  but  the  mere  pretext  by  which  the  energy  of 
one  man  sought  to  justify  his  ambition  over  the  herd.  Deem- 
ing himself  one  of  the  most  honorable  spirits  of  his  age,  he 
believed  in  no  honor  which  he  was  unable  to  feel  ;  and,  sceptic 
in  virtue,  was  therefore  credulous  of  vice. 

But  the  boldness  of  his  own  nature  inclined  him,  perhaps, 
.ather  to  the  adventurous  Rienzi  than  to  the  self-complacent 
Colonna  ;  and  he  considered  that  to  the  safety  of  the  first  he 
and  his  armed  minions  might  be  even  more  necessary  than  to 
that  of  the  last.     At  present  his  mai'^  object  was  to  learn  from 


THE    LAST    OF     THE    TRIBUNES.  125 

Rienzi  the  exact  strength  which  he  possessed,  and  how  far  he 
was  prepared  for  any  actual  revolt. 

The  acute  Roman  took  care,  on  the  one  hand,  how  he  be- 
trayed to  the  Knight  more  than  he  yet  knew,  or  he  disgusted 
him  by  apparent  reserve  on  the  other.  Crafty  as  Montreal 
was,  he  possessed  not  that  wonderful  art  of  mastering  others 
which  was  so  pre-eminently  the  gift  of  the  eloquent  and  pro- 
found Rienzi,  and  the  difference  between  the  grades  of  their 
intellect  was  visible  in  their  present  conference. 

"I  see,"  said  Rienzi,  "that  amidst  all  the  events  which 
have  lately  smiled  upon  my  ambition,  none  is  so  favorable  as  that 
which  assures  me  of  your  countenance  and  friendship.  In 
truth,  I  require  some  armed  reliance.  Would  you  believe  it, 
our  friends,  so  bold  in  private  meetings,  yet  shrink  from  a 
public  explosion.  They  fear  not  the  patricians,  but  the 
soldiery  of  the  patricians  ;  for  it  is  the  remarkable  feature  in 
the  Italian  courage,  that  they  have  no  terror  for  each  other, 
but  the  casque  and  sword  of  a  foreign  hireling  make  them  quail 
like  deer." 

**  They  will  welcome  gladly,  then,  the  assurance  that  such 
hirelings  shall  be  in  their  service,  not  against  them  ;  and  as 
many  as  you  desire  for  the  revolution,  so  many  shall  you 
receive." 

*'But  the  pay  and  the  conditions,"  said  Rienzi,  with  his  dry, 
sarcastic  smile.  "  How  shall  we  arrange  the  first,  and  what 
shall  we  hold  to  be  the  second  ?  " 

"  That  is  an  affair  easily  concluded,"  replied  Montreal 
"  For  me,  to  tell  you  frankly,  the  glory  and  excitement  of  so 
great  a  revolution  would  alone  suffice.  I  like  to  feel  myself 
necessary  to  the  completion  of  high  events.  For  my  men  it  is 
otherwise.  Your  first  act  will  be  to  seize  the  revenues  of  the 
State.  Well,  whatever  they  amount  to,  the  product  of  the  first 
year,  great  or  small,  shall  be  divided  amongst  us.  You  the 
one  half,  I  and  my  men  the  other  half." 

"  It  is  much,"  said  Rienzi  gravely,  and  as  if  in  calculation, 
"  but  Rome  cannot  purchase  her  liberties  too  dearly.  So  be  it 
then  decided." 

"Amen  !  And  now,  then,  what  is  your  force?  for  these 
eighty  or  a  hundred  signors  of  the  Aventine — worthy  men, 
doubtless — scarce  suffice  for  a  revolt !  " 

Gazing  cautiously  round  the  room,  the  Roman  placed  his 
hand  on  Mont  rami's  arm  : 

"  Betwet'n  you  and  me,  it  requires  time  to  cement  it.  We  shall 
be  «nabi€  co  «Ur  Uiese  five  weeks*     I  have  too  rashly  anticipa- 


126  RIENZI,  L 

ted  the  period.  The  corn  is  indeed  cut,  but  I  must  now, 
by  private  adjuration  and  address,  bind  up  the  scattered 
sheaves." 

**  Five  weeks,"  repeated  Montreal,  "that  is  far  longer  than  I 
anticipated." 

"What  I  desire,"  continued  Rienzi,  fixing  his  searching  eyes 
upon  Montreal,  "is  that,  in  the  mean  while,  we  should  preserve 
a  profound  calm,  we  should  remove  every  suspicion.  I  shall 
bury  myself  in  my  studies,  and  convoke  no  more  meetings." 

"  Well—" 

"And  for  yourself,  noble  Knight,  might  I  venture  to  dictate, 
I  would  pray  you  to  mix  with  the  nobles:  to  profess  for  me 
and  for  the  people  the  profoundest  contempt :  and  to  contrib- 
ute to  rock  them  yet  more  in  the  cradle  of  their  false  security. 
Meanwhile,  you  could  quietly  withdraw  as  many  of  the  armed 
mercenaries  is  you  influence  from  Rome,  and  leave  the  nobles 
without  the'jronly  defenders.  Collecting  these  hardy  warriors  in 
the  recesses  of  the  mountains,  a  day's  march  from  hence,  we  may 
be  able  to  summon  them  at  need,  and  they  shall  appear  at  our 
gates,  and  in  the  midst  of  our  rising — hailed  as  deliverers  by 
the  nobles,  but  in  reality  allies  of  the  people.  In  the  confu- 
sion ?,nd  despair  of  our  enemies  at  discovering  their  mistake, 
thev  A^ill  fly  from  the  city." 

And  its  revenues  and  its  empire  will  become  the  appanage 
of  the  hardy  soldier  and  the  intriguing  demagogue ! "  cried 
Montreal,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Sir  Knight,  the  division  shall  be  equal." 

"Agreed!" 

"And  now,  noble  Montreal,  a  flask  of  our  best  vintage  5** 
said  Rienzi,  changing  his  tone. 

"You  know  the  Proven9als,"  answered  Montreal  gayly. 

The  wine  was  brought,  the  conversation  became  free  and 
familiar,  and  Montreal,  whose  craft  was  acquired,  and  whose 
frankness  was  natural,  unwittingly  committed  his  secret  projects 
and  ambition  more  nakedly  to  Rienzi  than  he  had  designed  to 
do.     They  parted  apparently  the  best  of  friends. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Rienzi,  as  they  drained  the  last  goblet, 
"Stephen  Colonna  betakes  him  to  Corneto,  with  a  convoy  of 
corn,  on  the  19th.  Will  it  not  be  as  well  if  you  join  him  ?  You 
can  take  that  opportunity  to  whisper  discontent  to  the  merce- 
naries that  accompany  him  on  his  mission^  and  induce  them  td 
our  plan." 

"  I  thought  of  that  before)**  returned  M«*»iH:eAl ;  it  ihtU  bt 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRlBUKES.  J2^ 

"  'His  barb,  and  his  sword. 

And  his  lady,  the  peerless. 
Are  ail  that  are  prized 
By  Orlando  the  fearless. 

**  Success  to  the  Norman, 
The  darling  of  story  : 
His  glory  is  pleasure — 
His  pleasure  is  glory.'  '* 

Chanting   this   rude   ditty   as   he  resumed  his  mantle,  tli 
Knight  waved  his  hand  to  Rienzi,  and  departed. 

Rienzi  watched  the  receding  form  of  his  guest  with  an  ex- 
pression of  hate  and  fear  upon  his  countenance.  *'Give  that 
man  the  power,"  he  muttered,  "and  he  may  be  a  second 
Totila. '"  Methinks  I  see,  in  his  griping  and  ferocious  nature, 
through  all  the  gloss  of  its  gayety  and  knightly  grace,  the  very 
personification  of  our  old  Gothic  foes.  I  trust  I  have  lulled 
him  !  Verily,  two  suns  could  no  more  blaze  in  one  hemisphere 
than  Walter  de  Montreal  and  Cola  di  Rienzi  live  in  the  same 
city.  The  star-seers  tell  us  that  we  feel  a  secret  and  uncontroll- 
able antipathy  to  those  whose  astral  influences  destine  them 
to  work  us  evil  ;  such  antipathy  do  I  feel  for  yon  fair-faced 
homicide.     Cross  not  my  path,  Montreal  1  cross  not  my  path  ! " 

With  this  soliloquy  Rienzi  turned  within,  and,  retiring  to  his 
apartraenc,  was  seen  no  more  that  night. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   PROCESSION   OF   THE   BARONS. — THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE 

END. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  19th  of  May,  the  air  was  brisk  and 
clear,  and  the  sun,  which  had  just  risen,  shone  cherrily  upon 
the  glittering  casques  and  spears  of  a  gallant  procession  of 
armed  horsemen,  sweeping  through  the  long  and  principal 
street  of  Rome.  The  neighing  of  the  horses,  the  ringing  of 
the  hoofs,  the  dazzle  of  the  armor,  and  the  tossing  to  and  fro 
of  the  standards,  adorned  with  the  proud  insignia  of  the  Colonna, 
presented  one  of  the  gay  and  brilliant  spectacles  peculiar  to 
the  Middle  Ages. 

At  the  head  of  the  troop,  on  a  stout  palfrey,  rode  Stephen 
Colonna.  At  his  riglit  was  the  Knight  of  Provence,  curbing, 
with  an  easy  hand,  a  slight  but  fiery  steed   of  the  Arab  race; 

•  Innocent  VI.,  some  years  afterwards,  proclaimed  Montreal  to  be  worse  than  Totila» 


t28  RI£N2t, 

behind  him  followed  two  squires,  the  one  leading  his  war-horse, 
the  other  bearing  his  lance  and  helmet.  At  the  left  of  Stephen 
Colonna  rode  Adrian,  grave  and  silent,  and  replying  only  b) 
nion()syllal)les  to  the  gay  bavardagef)f  the  Kniglit  of  Provence 
\  considerable  number  of  the  Mi^wer  o(  the  Komnn  noMe. 
ollowed  the  old  Baron  ;  and  the  train  was  closed  by  a  seiriec 
iroop  of  foreign  horsemen,  completely  armed. 

'i'here  was  no  crowd   m  the  street ;  the  citizens  looked  wl  h 

seeming  apathy  at  the  procession  from  their  lialf-closed  shops. 

Have  these  Romans  no  passion  for  shows?"  asked   Mont- 

.eal ;  "  if  they  could  be  more  easily  amused  «liCy  would  be 

more  easily  governed." 

"  Oh,  Rienzi,  and  such  buffoons,  amuse  them.  We  do  bet- 
ter,— we  terrify  !  "  replied  Stephen. 

"What  sing3  the  troubadour,  Lord  Adrian?"  said  MontreaL 

*  Smiles,  false  smiles,  should  form  the  school 
For  those  who  rise,  and  those  who  rule  : 
The  brave  they  trick,  the  fair  subdue, 
Kings  deceive,  and  Sta'es  undo, 
'  Smiles,  false  smiles  1 

•Frowns,  true  frowns,  ourselves  betray, 
The  brave  arouse,  the  fair  dismay, 

Sting  the  pride,  which  blood  must  healt 
Mix  the  bowl,  and  point  the  steel. 

Frowns,  true  frowns  ! ' 

*  The  lay  is  of  France,  Signer ;  yet  methinks  it  brings  its 
wisdom  from  Italy  ;  for  the  serpent  smile  is  your  countrymen's 
orcper  distinction,  and  the  frown  ill  becomes  them." 

"  Sir  Knight,"  replied  Adrian  sharply,  and  incensed  at  the 
taunt,  "  you  foreigners  have  taught  us  how  to  frown — a  virtue 
sometimes." 

"  But  not  wisdom  unless  the  hand  could  maintain  what  the 
t)row  menaced,"  returned  Montreal,  with  haughtiness ;  for  he 
nad  much  of  the  Fianc  vivacity  which  often  overcame  his 
orudence  ;  and  he  had  conceived  a  secret  pique  against  Adrian 
since  the^r  interview  at  Stephen's  palace. 

"  Sir  Knight."  answered  Adrian,  coloring,  "our conversation 
may  lead  to  warmer  words  than  I  would  desire  to  have  with 
one  v.'ho  has  rendered  me  so  gallant  a  service." 

"  Nay,  then,  let  us  go  back  to  the  troubadours,"  said  Mont 
real  indifferently.     "Forgive  me  if  I  do  not  think  highly,  in 
general,  of  Italian   honor,  or   Italian  valor  ;  your  valor  I  ac- 
knowledge, for  I   have  witnessed  it,  and  valor  and  honor  go 
io^ether, — let  that  suffice  !  '* 


•tnt   lAST  of   THE   TRIBUNES.  t&§ 

As  Adrian  was  about  to  answer,  his  eye  fell  suddenly  on  the 
burly  form  of  Cecco  del  Vecchio,  who  was  leaning  his  bare 
and  brawny  arms  over  his  anvil,  and  gazing,  with  a  smile,  upon 
the  group.  There  was  something  in  that  smile  which  turned 
the  current  of  Adrian's  thoughts,  and  which  he  could  not  con- 
template without  an  unaccountable  misgiving. 

*'  A    strong    villain,    that,"    said   Montreal,    also  eyeing  the 
smith.     "  I  should  like  to  enlist  him.     Fellow  ! "  cried  he  aloud, 
"you  have  an  arm  that  were  as  fit  to  wield  the  sword  as  to> 
fashion  it.     Desert  your  anvil,  and  follow  the  fortunes  of  Fra 
Moreale !  '* 

The  smith  nodded  his  head.  **  Signor  Cavalier,"  said  he 
gravely,  "we  poor  men  have  no  passion  for  war;  we  want  not 
to  kill  others :  we  desire  only  ourselves  to  live, — if  you  will 
let  us ! " 

"  By  the  Holy  Mother,  a  slavish  answer !     But  you  Romans" — 

*'  Are  slaves !  "  interrupted  the  smith,  turning  away  to  the 
interior  of  his  forge. 

"  The  dog  is  mutinous  !  "  said  the  old  Colonna.  And  as  the 
band  swept  on,  the  rude  foreigners,  encouraged  by  their  leaders, 
had  each  some  taunt  or  jest,  uttered  in  a  barbarous  attempt  at 
the  southern  patois^  for  the  lazy  giant,  as  he  again  appeared  in 
front  of  his  forge,  leaning  on  his  anvil  as  before,  and  betraying 
no  sign  of  attention  to  his  insulters,  save  by  a  heightened  glow 
of  his  swarthy  visage  ;  and  so  the  gallant  procession  passed 
through  the  streets,  and  quitted  the  Eternal  City. 

There  was  a  long  interval  of  deep  silence — of  general  calm — 
throughout  the  whole  of  Rome :  the  shops  were  still  but  half- 
opened  ;  no  man  betook  himself  to  his  business  ;  it  was  like 
the  commencement  of  some  holyday,  when  indolence  precedes 
enjoyment. 

About  noon  a  few  small  knots  of  men  might  be  seen  scattered 
about  the  streets,  whispering  to  each  other,  but  soon  dispersing  ; 
and  every  now  and  then  a  single  passenger,  generally  habited 
in  the  long  robes  used  by  the  men  of  letters,  or  in  the  more 
sombre  garb  of  monks,  passed  hurriedly  up  the  street  towards 
the  Church  of  St.  Mary  of  Egypt,  once  the  temple  of  Fortune. 
Then,  again,  all  was  solitary  and  deserted.  Suddenly,  there 
was  heard  the  sound  of  a  sitigle  trumpet !  It  swelled — it  gathered 
on  the  ear.  Cecco  del  Vecchio  looked  up  from  his  anvil !  A 
solitary  horseman  paced  slowly  by  the  forge,  and  wound  a  long, 
loud  blast  of  the  trumpet  suspended  round  his  neck,  as  he  passed 
through  the  middle  of  the  street.  Then  might  you  see  a 
crowd,  suddenly,  and  as  by  maa;ic,  appear  emerging  from  every 


#30  RIEN^I, 

corner  ;  the  street  became  thronged  with  multitudes  ;  but  it 
was  only  by  the  tramp  of  their  feet,  and  an  indistinct  and  low 
murmur,  that  they  broke  the  silence.  Again  the  horsemnn 
wound  his  trump,  and  when  the  note  ceased,  he  cried  aloud  : 
*'  Friends  and  Romans  !  to-morrow,  at  dawn  of  day  let  each 
man  fi  d  himself  unarmed,  before  the  church  of  St.  An<;elo. 
Cola  ci  nienzi  convenes  the  Romans  to  provide  for  the  good 
state  of  Rome."  A  shout,  that  seemed  to  shake  the  bases  of 
the  seven  hills,  broke  forth  at  the  end  of  this  brief  exhortation  ; 
tlie  horseman  rode  slowly  on,  and  the  crowd  followed.  This 
was  the  commencement  of  the  Revolution  ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   CONSPIRATOR   BECOMES   THE   MAGISTRATE. 

At  midnight,  when  the  rest  of  the  city  seemed  hushed  in 
rest,  lights  were  streaming  from  the  windows  of  the  church  of 
St.  Angelo.  Breaking  from  its  echoing  aisles,  the  long  and  sol» 
emn  notes  of  sacred  music  stole  at  frequent  intervals  upon  the 
air.  Rienzi  was  praying  within  the  church  ;  thirty  masses  con- 
sumed  the  hours  from  night  till  morn,  and  all  the  sanction  of 
religion  was  invoked  to  consecrate  the  enterprise  of  Liberty/** 
The  sun  had  long  risen,  and  the  crowd  had  long  been  assem- 
bled before  the  church  door,  and  in  vast  streams  along  every 
street  that  led  to  it,  v/hen  the  bell  of  the  church  tolled  out  long 
and  merrily  ;  and  as  it  ceased,  the  voices  of  the  choristers 
within  chanted  the  following  hymn,  in  which  v/ere  somewhat 
strikingly,  though  barbarously,  blended,  the  spirit  of  the  classic 
patriotism  with  the  fervor  of  religious  zeal : 

THE  ROMAN   HYMN  OF  LIBERTY. 

Let  the  mountains  exult  around  !  f 
On  her  seven-hill'd  throne  renown'd, 
Once  more  old  Rome  is  crown 'd  ! 

Jubilate  ! 

*  In  fact,  T  rpprehend  that  if  ever  the  life  of  Cola  di  Rienzi  shall  be  written  by  a  hand 
'vortiiy  of  the  t'asic,  it  will  be  shoivn  that  a  strong  religious  feelinf[  was  blended  ivith 
the  political  enthusiasvt  of  the  people  ^  the  religious  feeling  of  a  premattire  and  crude 
reformation,  the  legacy  of  Arnold  of  Brescia.  It  was  not,  however,  one  excited  against 
»he  priests,  but  favored  by  them.  The  principal  conventual  orders  declared  for  the  Rev- 
olution. 

f'Exultent  in  circuito  Vestro  Monies,"  etc. — Let  the  mountains  exult  around  1  So 
ktC'ins  Rienzi'i  letter  to  the  Senate  and  Roman  people,  preserved  by  Hocsemius. 


The  last  of  the  tribunes.  131 

Sing  out,  O  Vale  and  Wave  ! 
Look  up  from  each  laurel'd  grave, 
Bright  dust  of  the  deathless  brave ! 

Jubilate ! 

Pale  Vision,  what  art  thou? — Lo, 

From  Time's  dark  deeps, 

Like  a  Wind,  It  sweeps, 
Like  a  Wind,  when  the  tempests  blow , 

A  shadowy  form — as  a  giant  ghost — 
It  stands  in  the  midst  of  the  armed  host ! 
The  dead  man's  shroud  on  Its  awful  limbs : 
And  the  gloom  of  Its  presence  the  daylight  dims: 
And  the  trembling  world  looks  on  aghast — 
All  hail  to  the  Soul  of  the  Mighty  Past! 

Hail !  all  hail ! 

As  we  speak — as  we  hallow — It  moves,  It  breathes ; 
From  its  clouded  crest  bud  the  laurel  wreaths — 
As  a  Sun  that  leaps  up  from  the  arms  of  Night, 
The  Shadow  takes  shape  and  the  gloom  takes  light. 

Hail!  all  hail! 

The  Soul  of  the  Past,  again 

To  its  ancient  home 

In  the  hearts  of  Rome, 
Hath  coiBe  to  resume  its  reign  ! 

O  Fame,  with  a  prophet's  voice, 

Bid  the  ends  of  the  Earth  rejoice  ! 

Wherever  the  Proud  are  Strong, 

And  Right  is  oppress'd  by  wrong ; — 

Wherever  the  day  dim  shines 

Through  the  cell  where  the  captive  pines  ;— 

Go  forth,  with  a  trumpet's  sound ! 

And  tell  to  the  Nations  round — 

On  the  Hills  which  the  Heroes  trod — 

In  the  shrines  of  the  saints  of  God — 

In  the  Caesars'  hall,  and  the  Martyrs'  prison — 

That  the  slumber  is  broke,  and  the  Sleeper  arisen ! 

That  the  reign  of  the  Goth  and  the  Vandal  is  o'er : 

And  Earth  feels  the  tread  of  The  Roman  once  more. 

As  the  hymn  ended,  the  gate  of  the  church  opened  ;  the 
crowd  gave  way  on  either  side,  and,  preceded  by  three  of  the 
young  nobles  of  the  inferior  order,  bearing  standards  of  alle- 
gorical design,  depicting  the  triumph  of  Libert}^  Justice,  and 
Concord,  forth  issued  Rienzi,  clad  in  complete  armor,  the  hel- 
met alone  excepted.  His  face  was  pale  with  watching  and 
intense  excitement,  but  stern,  grave,  and  solemnly  composed ; 
and  its  expr^issioii  so  repelled  any  vociferous  and  vulgar  burst 
q(  feeling,  tkat  (ho«c  wh»  l^cheJd  it  hu«hed  the  shout  pn  t,h<^it 


13J  RIENZI, 

lips,  and  stilled,  by  a  simultaneous  cry  of  reproof,  the  gratula« 
tions  of  the  crowd  behind.  Side  by  side  with  Rienzi  moved 
Raimond,  Bishop  of  Orvietto  ;  and  behind,  marching  two  by 
two,  followed  a  hundred  men-at-arms.  In  complete  silence 
the  procession  began  its  way,  until,  as  it  approached  the  Capi- 
tol, the  awe  of  the  crowd  gradually  vanished,  and  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  voices  rent  the  air  with  shouts  of  exultation 
and  joy. 

Arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  great  staircase,  which  then  made 
the  principal  ascent  to  the  square  of  the  Capitol,  the  procession 
halted  ;  and  as  the  crowd  filled  up  that  vast  space  in  front — 
adorned  and  hallowed  by  many  of  the  most  majestic  columns 
of  the  temples  of  old — Rienzi  addressed  the  Populace,  whom 
he  had  suddenly  elevated  into  a  People. 

He  depicted  forcibly  the  servitude  and  misery  of  the  citizens, 
the  utter  absence  of  all  law,  the  want  even  of  common  security 
to  life  and  property.  He  declared  that,  undaunted  by  the 
peril  he  incurred,  he  devoted  Iiis  life  to  the  regeneration  of 
their  common  country  ;  and  he  solemnly  appealed  to  the  peo- 
ple to  assist  the  enterprise,  and  at  once  to  sanction  and  consoli- 
date the  Revolution  by  an  established  code  of  law  and  a  Con- 
stitutional Assembly.  He  then  ordered  the  chart  and  outline 
of  the  Constitution  he  proposed  to  be  read  by  the  Herald  to 
the  multitude. 

It  created,  or  rather  revived,  with  new  privileges  and  pow- 
ers, a  representative  Assembly  of  Councillors.  It  proclaimed, 
as  its  first  law,  one  that  seems  simple  enough  to  our  happier 
times,  but  never  hitherto  executed  at  Rome  :  Every  wilful 
homicide,  of  whatever  rank,  was  to  be  punished  by  death.  It 
enacted,  that  no  private  noble  or  citizen  should  be  suffered  to 
maintain  fortifications  and  garrisons  in  the  city  or  the  country  ; 
that  the  gates  and  brid-^es  of  the  State  should  be  under  the 
control  of  whomsoever  should  be  elected  Chief  Magistrate.  It 
forbade  all  harbor  of  brigands,  mercenaries,  and  robbers,  on 
payment  of  a  thousand  marks  of  silver,  and  it  made  the  barons 
who  possessed  the  neighboring  territories  responsible  for  the 
safety  of  the  roads,  and  the  transport  of  merchandise.  It  took 
under  the  protection  of  the  State  the  widow  and  the  orphan.  It 
appointed,  in  each  of  the  quarters  of  the  city,  an  armed  militia, 
whom  tlie  tolling  of  the  bell  of  the  Capitol,  at  any  hour,  was  to 
assemble  to  the  protection  of  the  State.  It  ordained,  that  in 
each  harbor  of  the  coast  a  vessel  should  be  stationed  for  the 
safeguard  of  commerce.  It  decreed  the  sum  of  one  hundred 
rJenns  to  the  heirs  of  tvery  man  who  died  In  the  defence  oi 


fHE  LASt   OF  THE  TRIBUNES  *3^ 

Rome  ;  and  it  devoted  the  public  revenues  to  the  service  and 
protection  of  the  State. 

Such,  moderate  at  once  and  effectual,  was  the  outline  of  the 
New  Constitution  ;  and  it  may  amuse  the  reader  to  consider 
how  great  must  have  been  the  previous  disorders  of  the  city, 
when  the  common  and  elementary  provisions  of  civilization 
and  security  irvade  the  character  of  the  code  proposed,  and  the 
limit  of  a  popular  revolution. 

The  most  rapturous  shouts  followed  this  sketch  of  the  New 
Constitution  ;  and,  amidst  the  clamor,  up  rose  the  huge  form 
of  Cecco  del  Vecchio.  Despite  his  condition,  he  was  a  man  of 
great  importance  at  the  present  crisis  :  his  zeal  and  his  cour- 
age, and  perhaps  still  more,  his  brute  passion  and  stubborn 
prejudice,  had  made  him  popular.  The  lower  order  of  me- 
chanics looked  to  him  as  their  head  and  representative  ;  out, 
then,  he  spake  loud  and  fearlessly, — speaking  well,  because  his 
mind  was  full  of  what  he  had  to  say. 

"Countrymen  and  citizens!  This  New  Constitution  meets 
with  your  approbation — so  it  ought.  But  what  are  good  laws, 
if  we  do  not  have  good  men  to  execute  them  ?  Who  can  exe- 
cute a  law  so  well  as  the  man  who  designs  it  ?  If  you  ask  me 
to  give  you  a  notion  how  to  make  a  good  shield,  and  my  no- 
tion pleases  you,  would  you  ask  me  or  another  smith  to  make 
it  for  you?  If  you  ask  another,  he  may  make  a  good  shield, 
but  it  would  not  be  the  same  as  that  which  I  should  have 
made,  and  the  description  of  which  contented  you.  Cola  di 
Rienzi  has  proposed  a  Code  of  Law  that  shall  be  our  shield. 
Who  should  see  that  the  shield  become  what  he  proposes,  but 
Cola  di  Rienzi  ?  Romans  !  I  suggest  that  Cola  di  Rienzi  be 
intrusted  by  the  people  with  the  authority,  by  whatsoever  name 
he  pleases,  of  carrying  the  New  Constitution  into  effect  ;  and 
whatever  be  the  means,  we,  the  People,  will  bear  him  harmless." 

"Long  life  to  Rienzi!  long  live  Cecco  del  Vecchio!  He 
hath  spoken  well  !  none  but  the  Law-maker  shall  be  the 
Governor  I  " 

Such  were  the  acclamations  which  greeted  the  ambitious 
heart  of  the  Scholar.  The  voice  of  the  people  invested  him 
with  the  supreme  power.  He  had  created  a  Commonwealth— 
to  become,  if  he  desired  it,  a  Despot. 


134  RIENZI, 

CHAPTER  VII. 

LOOKING  AFTER  THE  HALTER  WHEN  THE  MARE  IS  STOLEN. 

While  such  were  the  events  at  Rome,  a  servitor  of  Stephen 
Colonna  was  already  on  his  way  to  Corneto.  The  astonish- 
ment with  which  the  old  Baron  received  the  intelligence  may 
be  easily  imagined.  He  lost  not  a  moment  in  convening  his 
troop  ;  and  while  in  all  the  bustle  of  departure  the  Knight  of 
St.  John  abruptly  entered  his  presence.  His  mien  had  lost  its 
usual  frank  composure. 

*'  How  is  this  }  "  said  he  hastily  :  "a  revolt?  Rienzi  sove- 
reign of  Rome  ?     Can  the  news  be  believed  ?  " 

*'  It  is  too  true  !  "  said  Colonna,  with  a  bitter  smile.  "  Where 
shall  we  hang  him  on  our  return  ?" 

"  Talk  not  so  wildly.  Sir  Baron,"  replied  Montreal  discourt- 
eously ;  "  Rienzi  is  stronger  than  you  think  for.  I  know  what 
men  are,  and  you  only  know  what  noblemen  are !  Where  is 
your  kinsman,  Adrian  ?  " 

'*  He  is  here,  noble  Montreal,"  said  Stephen,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  with  a  half-disdainful  smile  at  the  rebuke,  which  he 
thought  it  more  prudent  not  to  resent  ;  he  is  here ! — see  him 
enter !  " 

"  You  have  heard  the  news  ?  "  exclaimed  Montreal, 

"  I  have." 

^*  And  despise  the  revolution  ?  " 

"  I  fear  it  ! " 

"  Then  you  have  some  sense  in  you.  But  this  is  none  of  my 
Rffair  :  I  will  not  interrupt  your  consultations.  Adieu  for  the 
present  !  "  and,  ere  Stephen  could  prevent  him,  the  Knight 
had  quitted  the  chamber. 

"What  means  this  demagogue  ?"  Montreal  muttered  to  him- 
self. ''Would  he  trick  me?  Has  he  got  rid  of  my  presence 
in  order  to  monopolize  all  the  profit  of  the  enterprise  ?  I  fear 
me  so  ! — the  cunning  Roman  I  We  Northern  warriors  could 
never  compete  with  the  intellect  of  these  Italians  but  for  their 
cowardice.  But  what  shall  be  done  ?  I  have  already  bid  Ro- 
dolf  communicate  with  the  brigands,  and  they  are  on  the  eve 
of  departure  from  their  present  lord.  Well  !  let  it  be  so  ! 
Better  that  I  should  first  break  the  power  of  the  Barons,  and 
then  make  my  own  terms,  sword  in  hand,  with  the  plebeian. 
And  if  I  fail  in  this, — sweet  Adeline  !  I  shall  see  thee  again  !— 
that  is  some  comfort  !  And  Louis  of  Hungary  will  bid  high 
for  the  arm  and  brain  of  Walter  de  Montreal.     What,  ho  i  Ro* 


THE   LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  135 

dolf  !  **  he  exclaimed  aloud,  as  the  sturdy  form  of  the  trooper, 
half-armed  and  half-intoxicated,  reeled  along  the  courtyard. 
*'  Knave  !  art  thou  drunk  at  this  hour  <*  " 

**  Drunk  or  sober,"  answered  Rodolf,  bending  low,  **  I  am  at 
thy  bidding." 

"Well  said  !     Are  thy  friends  ripe  for  the  saddle?" 

"  Eighty  of  them,  already  tired  of  idleness  and  the  dull  air 
of  Rome,  will  fly  wherever  Sir  Walter  de  Montreal  wishes." 

"  Hasten,  then,  bid  them  mount  ;  we  go  not  hence  with  the 
Colonna  ;  we  leave  while  they  are  yet  talking  !  Bid  my  squires 
attend  me  ! " 

And  when  Stephen  Colonna  was  settling  himself  on  his  pal- 
frey, he  heard,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  Knight  of  Provence, 
Rodolf  the  trooper,  and  eighty  of  the  stipendiaries,  had  already 
departed, — whither,  none  knew. 

**  To  precede  us  to  Rome  !  gallant  barbarian  !  "  said  Colonna. 
** Sirs,  on!" 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   ATTACK — THE   RETREAT — THE   ELECTION — AND   THE 

ADHESION. 

Arriving  at  Rome,  the  company  of  the  Colonna  found  the 
gates  barred,  and  the  walls  manned.  Stephen  bade  aavance 
his  trumpeters,  with  one  of  his  captains,  imperiously  to  demand 
admittance. 

"We  have  orders,"  replied  the  chief  of  the  town-guard,  *'to 
admit  none  who  bear  arms,  flags,  or  trumpets.  Let  the  Lords 
Colonna  dismiss  their  train,  and  they  are  welcome." 

"  Whose  are  these  insolent  mandates?"  asked  the  captain. 

"  Those  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Orvietto  and  Cola  di  Rienzi, 
joint  protectors  of  the  Buono  Stato."* 

The  captain  of  the  Colonna  returned  to  his  chief  with  these 
tidings.  The  rage  of  Stephen  was  indescribable.  "  Go  back," 
he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  could  summon  voice,  "  and  say  that,  if 
the  gates  are  not  forthwith  opened  to  me  and  mine,  the  blood 
of  the  plebeians  be  on  their  own  head.  As  for  Raimond, 
Vicars  of  the  Pope  have  high  spiritual  authority,  none  tempo- 
^ral.  Let  him  prescribe  a  fast,  and  he  shall  be  obeyed  ;  but, 
for  the  ra%h  Rienzi,  say  that  Stej)hen  Colnnna  will  seek  him  in 
the  Capitol  to-morrow,  for  the  purpose  of  throwing  him  out  of 
jhe  highest  window." 

♦  Good  Estate. 


3136  RIENZI, 

These  messages  the  envoy  failed  not  to  deliver. 

The  captain  of  the  Romans  was  equally  stern  in  his  reply. 

*'  Declare  to  your  lord,"  said  he,  "  that  Rome  holds  him  and 
his  as  rebels  and  traitors  ;  and  that  the  moment  you  regain 
your  troop,  our  archers  receive  our  command  to  draw  their 
bows — in  the  name  of  the  Pope,  the  City,  and  the  Liberator." 

This  threat  was  executed  to  the  letter;  and  ere  the  old 
Baron  had  time  to  draw  up  his  men  in  the  best  array,  the  gates 
were  thrown  open,  and  a  well-armed,  if  undisciplined,  multi- 
tude poured  forth,  with  fierce  shouts,  clashing  their  arms,  and 
advancing  the  azure  banners  of  the  Roman  State.  So  desper- 
ate their  charge,  and  so  great  their  numbers,  that  the  barons, 
after  a  short  and  tumultuous  conflict,  were  driven  back,  and 
chased  by  their  pursuers  for  more  than  a  mile  from  the  walls 
of  the  city. 

As  soon  as  the  barons  recovered  their  disorder  and  dismay, 
a  hasty  council  was  held,  at  which  various  and  contradictory 
opinions  were  loudly  urged.  Some  were  for  departing  on  the 
instant  to  Palestrina,  which  belonged  to  the  Colonna,  and 
possessed  an  almost  inaccessible  fortress.  Others  were  for 
dispersing,  and  entering  peaceably,  and  in  detached  parties, 
through  the  other  gates.  Stephen  Colonna — himself  incensed 
and  disturbed  from  his  usual  self-command — was  unable  to 
preserve  his  authority;  Luca  di  Savelli, *  a  timid,  though 
treacherous  and  subtle  man,  already  turned  his  horse's  head, 
and  summoned  his  men  to  follow  him  to  his  castle  in  Ro- 
magna,  when  the  old  Colonna  bethought  himself  of  a  method 
by  which  to  keep  his  band  from  a  disunion  that  he  had  the 
sense  to  perceive  would  prove  fatal  to  the  common  cause.  He 
proposed  that  they  should  at  once  repair  to  Palestrina,  and 
there  fortify  themselves  ;  while  one  of  the  chiefs  should  be 
selected  to  enter  Rome  alone,  and  apparently  submissive,  to 
-jxamine  the  strength  of  Rienzi  ;  and  with  the  discretionary 
power  to  resist  if  possible,  or  to  make  tke  best  terms  he  could 
for  the  admission  of  the  rest. 

"  And  who,"  asked  Savelli  sneeringly,  "  will  undertake  this 
dangerous  mission  ?  Who,  unarmed  and  alone,  will  expose 
himself  to  the  rage  of  the  fiercest  populace  of  Italy,  and  the 
caprice  of  a  demagogue  in  the  first  flush  of  his  power  ?  '* 

The  barons  and  the  captains  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 
Savelli  laughed. 

Hitherto  Adrian  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conference,  and 

*  The  more  correct  orthography  were  Liica  di  Savello,  but  thc  Qtl^  in  the  text  is  prO» 

served  as  more  familiar  to  the  English  reader. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  137 

but  little  in  the  previous  contest.  He  now  came  to  the  sup- 
port of  his  kinsman, 

"Signors  !  "  said  he,  "  I  will  undertake  this  mission,  but  on 
mine  own  account,  independently  of  yours — free  to  act  as  I  may 
think  best,  for  the  dignity  of  a  Roman  noble,  and  the  interests 
Df  a  Roman  citizen  ;  free  to  raise  my  standard  on  mine  own 
tower,  or  to  yield  fealty  to  the  new  estate." 

"  Well  said  !  "  cried  the  old  Colonna  hastily.  "  Heaven  forbid 
we  should  enter  Rome  as  foes,  if  to  enter  it  as  friends  be  yet 
allowed  us  !     What  say  ye,  gentles  ?  " 

*'  A  more  worthy  choice  could  not  be  selected,"  said  Savelli ; 
"  but  I  should  scarce  deem  it  possible  that  a  Colonna  could 
think  there  was  an  option  between  resistance  and  fealty  to  this 
upstart  revolution." 

"  Of  that,  signor,  I  will  judge  for  myself  ;  if  you  demand 
an  agent  for  yourselves,  choose  another.  I  announce  to  ye 
frankly,  that  I  have  seen  enough  of  other  States  to  think  the 
recent  condition  of  Rome  demanded  some  redress.  Whether 
Rienzi  and  Raimond  be  worthy  of  the  task  they  have  assumed, 
I  know  not." 

Savelli  was  silent.     The  old  Colonna  seized  the  word. 

"  To  Palestrina,  then  !  Are  ye  all  agreed  on  this  ?  At  the 
worst,  or  at  the  best,  we  should  not  be  divided  !  On  this  con- 
dition alone  I  hazard  the  safety  of  my  kinsman  !  " 

The  barons  murmured  a  little  among  themselves  ;  the  expe- 
diency of  Stephen's  proposition  was  evident,  and  they  at 
length  assented  to  it. 

Adrian  saw  them  depart,  and  then,  attended  only  by  his 
'squire,  slowly  rode  towards  a  more  distant  entrance  into  the 
city.  On  arriving  at  the  gates,  his  name  was  demanded  ;  he 
gave  it  freely. 

**  Enter,  my  lord,"  said  the  warder,  "our  orders  were  to 
admit  all  that  came  unarmed  and  unattended.  But  to  the  Lord 
Adrian  di  Castello,  alone,  we  had  a  special  injunction  to  give 
the  honors  due  to  a  citizen  and  a  friend." 

Adrian,  a  little  touched  by  this  implied  recollection  of 
friendship,  now  rode  through  a  long  line  of  armed  citizens, 
who  saluted  him  respectfully  as  he  passed,  and,  as  he  returned 
the  salutation  with  courtesy,  a  loud  and  approving  shout  fol- 
lowed his  horse's  steps. 

So,  save  by  one  attendant,  alone,  and  in  peace,  the  young 
patrician  proceeded  leisurely  through  the  long  streets,  empty 
and  deserted, — for  nearly  one-half  of  the  inhabitants  were 
assembled  at  the  walls,  and  nearly  the  other  half  were  engage^ 


138  RIENZI, 

in  a  rnore  peaceful  duty, — until  penetrating  the  interior,  the 
wide  and  elevated  space  of  the  Capitol  broke  upon  his  sight. 
The  sun  was  slowly  setting  over  an  immense  multitude  that 
overspread  the  spot,  and  high  above  a  scaffold  raised  in  the 
centre  shone,  to  the  western  ray,  the  great  Gonfalon  of  Rome, 
studded  with  silver  stars. 

Adrian  reined  in  his  steed.  "This,"  thought  he,"  is  scarcely 
the  hour  thus  publicly  to  confer  with  Rienzi ;  yet  fain  would 
I,  mingled  with  the  crowd,  judge  how  far  his  power  is  sup- 
ported, and  in  what  manner  it  is  borne."  Musing  a  little,  he 
withdrew  into  one  of  the  obscurer  streets,  then  wholly  deserted, 
surrendered  his  horse  to  his  'squire,  and,  borrowing  of  the 
latter  his  morion  and  long  mantle,  passed  to  one  of  the  more 
private  entrances  of  the  Capitol,  and,  enveloped  in  his  cloak, 
stood — one  of  the  crowd — intent  upon  all  that  followed. 

"  And  what,"  he  asked  of  a  plainly  dressed  citizen,  "  is  the 
cause  of  this  assembly  ?" 

"  Heard  you  not  the  proclamation  ?"  returned  the  other  in 
some  surprise.  "  Do  you  not  know  that  the  Council  of  the 
City  and  the  Guilds  of  the  Artisans  have  passed  a  vote  to 
proffer  to  Rienzi  the  title  of  King  of  Rome  ?" 

The  Knight  of  the  Emperor  to  whom  belonged  that  august 
dignity  drew  back  in  dismay. 

"And,"  resumed  the  citizen,  "  this  assembly  of  all  the  lesser 
barons,  councillors,  and  artificers  is  convened  to  hear  the 
answer." 

"  Of  course  it  will  be  assent  ?  " 

"  I  know  not — there  are  strange  rumors  ;  hitherto  the  Lib- 
erator has  concealed  his  sentiments." 

At  that  instant  a  loud  flourish  of  martial  music  announced 
the  approach  of  Rienzi.  The  crowd  tumultuously  divided,  and 
presently,  from  the  Palace  of  the  Capitol  to  the  scaffold,  passed 
Rienzi,  still  in  complete  armor,  save  the  helmet,  and  with  him, 
in  all  the  pomp  of  his  episcopal  robes,  Raimond  of  Orvietto. 

As  soon  as  Rienzi  had  ascended  the  platform,  and  was  thus 
made  visible  to  the  whole  concourse,  no  words  can  suffice  to 
paint  the  enthusiasm  of  the  scene — the  shouts,  the  gestures, 
the  tears,  the  sobs,  the  wild  laughter,  in  which  the  sympathy 
of  those  lively  and  susceptible  children  of  the  South  broke 
forth.  The  windows  and  balconies  of  the  Palace  were  thronged 
with  the  wives  and  daucrhters  of  the  lesser  barons  and  more 
opulent  citizens;  and  Adrian,  with  a  slight  start,  beheld 
amongst  them,  pale,  agitated,  tearful,  the  lovely  face  of  his 
(rene — ^  face  that  evei>  thus  would  have  outshone  all  present^ 


tHE   LAST   Of   THE   TRIBUNES.  13^ 

but  for  one  by  her  side,  whose  beauty  the  emotion  of  the  hour 
only  served  to  embellish.  The  dark,  large,  and  flashing  eyes 
of  Nina  di  Raselli,  just  bedewed,  were  fixed  proudly  on  the 
hero  of  her  choice :  and  pride,  even  more  than  joy,  gave  a 
richer  carnation  to  her  cheek,  and  the  presence  of  a  queen  to 
her  noble  and  rounded  form.  The  setting  sun  poured  its  full 
glory  over  the  spot  ;  the  bared  heads ;  the  animated  faces  of 
the  crowd  ;  the  gray  and  vast  mass  of  the  Capitol ;  and,  not 
far  from  the  side  of  Rienzi,  it  brought  into  a  strange  and  start- 
ling light  the  sculptured  form  of  a  colossal  Lion  of  Basalt,* 
which  gave  its  name  to  a  staircase  leading  to  the  Capitol.  It 
was  an  old  Egyptian  relic,  vast,  worn,  and  grim  ;  some  symbol 
of  a  vanished  creed, to  whose  face  the  sculptor  had  imparted  some- 
thing of  the  aspect  of  the  human  countenance.  And  this  pro- 
ducing the  effect  probably  sought,  gave  at  all  times  a  mystic, 
preternatural,  and  fearful  expression  to  the  stern  features,  and 
to  that  solemn  and  hushed  repose,  which  is  so  peculiarly  the 
secret  of  Egyptian  sculpture.  The  awe  which  this  colossal 
and  frowning  image  was  calculated  to  convey  was  felt  yet  more 
deeply  by  the  vulgar,  because  **  the  Staircase  of  the  Lion  "  was 
the  wonted  place  of  the  state  executions,  as  of  the  state  cere- 
monies. And  seldom  did  the  stoutest  citizen  forget  to  cross 
himself,  or  feel  unchilled  with  a  certain  terror,  whenever,  pass- 
ing by  the  place,  he  caught,  suddenly  fixed  upon  him,  the  stony 
gaze  and  ominous  grin  of  that  old  monster  from  the  cities  of 
the  Nile. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  the  feelings  of  the  assembly  al- 
lowed Rienzi  to  be  heard.  But  when,  at  length,  the  last  shout 
closed  with  a  simultaneous  cry  of  ''Long  live  Rienzi!  De- 
liverer and  king  of  Rome  !  "  he  raised  his  hand  impatiently,  and 
the  curiosity  of  the  crowd  procured  a  sudden  silence. 

"Deliverer  of  Rome,  my  countrymen  !"  said  he.  "Yes  I 
change  not  that  title.  I  am  too  ambitious  to  be  a  king  !  Pre- 
serve your  obedience  to  your  Pontiff — your  allegiance  to  your 
Emperor — but  be  faithful  to  your  own  liberties.  Ye  have  a 
right  to  your  ancient  constitution  ;  but  that  constitution  needed 
not  a  king.  Emulous  of  the  name  of  Brutus,  I  am  above  the 
titles  of  a  Tarquin  !  Romans,  awake  !  awake  !  be  inspired 
with  a  nobler  love  of  liberty  than  that  which,  /f  it  dethrones 
the  tyrant  of  to-day,   would  madly  risk  the  danger  of  tyranny 

*  The  existent  Capitol  is  very  different  from  the  building  at  the  time  of  Rienzi ;  and  the 
reader  must  not  suppose  that  the  present  staircase,  designed  by  Michael  Angelo,  at  the  base 
of  which  are  two  marble  lions,  removed  by  Pius  IV,  from  the  Church  of  St.  Stephen  del 
Cacco,  was  the  staircase  of  the  Lion  of  Basalt,  which  bears  so  stern  a  connection  with  tbc 
history  of  Rienzi.     That  mute  witness  of  dark  deeds  is  no  more* 


140  ftlENz!, 

for  to-morrow!  Rome  wants  still  a  liberator — never  att 
usurper  !     Take  away  yon  bauble  !  " 

There  was  a  pause  ;  the  crowd  weredeeply  affected,  but  they 
uttered  no  shouts  ;  they  looked  anxiously  for  a  reply  from 
their  councillors,  or  popular  leaders. 

"  Signor,"    said    Pandulfo  di  Guido,    who  was  one  of    the 

Caporioni,    "  your   answer    is  worthy  of   your   fame.     But  in 

order  to  enforce  the  law,  Rome  must   endow   you  with   a  legal 

title — if  not  that  of  King,  deign  to  accept  that  of  Dictator  or  of 

)Consul." 

)     "  Long  live  the  Consul  Rienzi  !  "  cried  several  voices. 
1     Rienzi  waved  his  hand  for  silence. 

•  *' Pandulfo  di  Guido  !  and  you,  honored  Councillors  of 
*Rome  !  such  title  is  at  once  too  august  for  my  merits,  and  too 
inapplicable  to  my  functions.  I  am  one  of  the  people — the 
people  are  my  charge  ;  the  nobles  can  protect  themselves. 
Dictator  and  consul  are  the  appellations  of  patricians.  No," 
he  continued  after  a  short  pause,  "  if  ye  deem  it  necessary,  for 
the  preservation  of  order,  that  your  fellow-citizen  should  be 
intrusted  with  a  formal  title  and  a  recognized  power,  be  it  so  ; 
but  let  it  be  such  as  may  attest  the  nature  of  our  new  institu- 
tions, the  wisdom  of  the  people,  and  the  moderation  of  their 
leaders.  Once,  my  countrymen,  the  people  elected,  for  the 
protectors  of  their  rights  and  the  guardians  of  their  freedom, 
certain  officers  responsible  to  the  people,  chosen  from  the 
people,  provident  /or  the  people.  Their  power  was  great,  but 
it  was  delegated  :  a  dignity,  but  a  trust.  The  name  of  these 
officers  was  that  of  Tribune.  Such  is  the  title  that  conceded, 
not  by  clamor  alone,  but  in  the  full  Parliament  of  the  people, 
and  accompanied  dy  such  Parliament,  ruling  wM  such  Parlia- 
ment,— such  is  the  title  I  will  gratefully  accept."  * 

The  speech,  the  sentiments  of  Rienzi,  were  rendered  far 
more  impressive  by  a  manner  of  earnest  and  deep  sincerity  ; 
and  some  of  the  Romans,  despite  their  corruption,  felt  a  mo- 
mentary exultation  in  the  forbearance  of  their  chief.  "  Long 
live  the  Tribune  of  Rome !  "  was  shouted,  but  less  loud  than 
the  cry  of  "  Live  the  King  !  "  and  the  vulgar  almost  thought 
the  revolution  was  incomplete,  because  the  loftier  title  was  not 
assumed.     To   a   degenerate   and    embruted    people,    liberty 

*  Gibbon  and  Sismondi  alike  (neither  of  whom  appears  to  have  consulted  with  much  at- 
tention the  original  documents  preserved  by  Hocsemius)  say  nothing  of  the  Representa- 
tive Parliament,  which  it  was  almost  Rienzi's  first  public  act  to  institute  or  model.  Six 
days  from  the  memorable  19th  of  May  he  addressed  the  people  of  Viterbo  in  a  letter  yet 
extant.  He  summons  them  to  elect  and  send  two  syndics,  or  ambassadors,  to  the  general 
Parliament, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  241 

seems  too  plain  a  thing,  if  unadorned  by  the  pomp  of  the  very 
despotism  they  would  dethrone.  Revenge  is  their  desire  rather 
than  Release  ;  and  the  greater  the  new  power  they  create,  the 
greater  seems  their  revenge  against  the  old.  Still  all  that  was 
most  respected,  intelligent,  and  powerful  amongst  the  assembly 
were  delighted  at  a  temperance  which  they  foresaw  would  free 
Rome  from  a  thousand  dangers,  whether  from  the  Emperor  or 
the  Pontiff.  And  their  delight  was  yet  increased  when  Rienzi 
added,  as  soon  as  returning  silence  permitted  :  "And  since 
we  have  been  equal  laborers  in  the  same  cause,  whatever 
honors  be  awarded  to  me  should  be  extended  also  to  the  Vicar 
of  the  Pope,  Raimond,  Lord  Bishop  of  Orvietto.  Remember, 
that  both  Church  and  State  are  properly  the  rulers  of  the 
people,  only  because  their  benefactors.  Long  live  the  first 
Vicar  of  a  Pope  that  was  ever  also  the  Liberator  of  a  State." 

Whether  or  not  Rienzi  was  only  actuated  by  patriotism  in 
his  moderation,  certain  it  is,  that  his  sagacity  was  at  least  equal 
to  his  virtue  ;  and  perhaps  nothing  could  have  cemented  the 
revolution  more  strongly  than  thus  obtaining  for  a  colleague 
the  Vicar  and  Representative  of  the  Pontifical  power  :  it  bor- 
rowed, for  the  time,  the  sanction  of  the  Pope  himself — thus 
made  to  share  the  responsibility  of  the  revolution,  without 
monopolizing  the  power  of  the  State. 

While  the  crowd  hailed  the  proposition  of  Rienzi  ;  while 
their  shouts  yet  filled  the  air  ;  while  Raimond,  somewhat  taken 
by  surprise,  sought  by  signs  and  gestures  to  convey  at  once  his 
gratitude  and  his  humility,  the  Tribune-Elect,  casting  his  eyes 
around,  perceived  many  hitherto  attracted  by  curiosity,  and 
whom,  from  their  rank  and  weight,  it  was  desirable  to  secure  in 
the  first  heat  of  the  public  enthusiasm.  Accordingly,  as  soon 
as  Raimond  had  uttered  a  short  and  pompous  harangue,  in 
which  his  eager  acceptance  of  the  honor  proposed  him  was 
ludicrously  contrasted  by  his  embarrassed  desire  not  to  involve 
himself  or  the  Pope  in  any  untoward  consequences  that  might 
ensue,  Rienzi  motioned  to  two  heralds  that  stood  behind  upop 
the  platform,  and  one  of  these  advancing,  proclaimed  :  *'  That 
as  it  was  desirable  that  all  hitherto  neuter  should  now  profess 
themselves  friends  or  foes,  so  they  were  invited  to  take  at  once 
the  oath  of  obedience  to  the  laws,  and  subscription  to  the 
Buono  Stato." 

So  great  was  the  popular  fervor,  and  so  much  had  it  been  re- 
fined and  deepened  in  its  tone  by  the  addresses  of  Rienzi,  that 
even  the  most  indifferent  had  caught  the  contagion  :  and  no 
m«»  Jiked  %p  h«  «««n  shrinking  from  the  rest !  so  that  the  most 


142  RIENZI, 

neutral,  knowing  themselves  the  most  marked,  were  the  most 
entrapped  into  allegiance  to  the  Biiono  Stato.  The  first  who 
advanced  to  the  platform  and  took  the  oath  was  the  Signor  di 
Raselli,  the  father  of  Nina.  Others  of  the  lesser  nobility  fol- 
lowed his  example. 

The  presence  of  the  Pope's  Vicar  induced  the  aristocratic ; 
the  fear  of  the  people  urged  the  selfish  ;  the  encouragement 
of  shouts  and  gratulations  excited  the  vain.  The  space  between 
Adrian  and  Rienzi  was  made  clear.  The  young  noble  suddenly 
felt  the  eyes  of  the  Tribune  were  upon  him  ;  he  felt  that  those 
eyes  recognized  and  called  upon  him  ;  he  colored  ;  he  breathed 
short.  The  noble  forbearance  of  Rienzi  had  touched  him  to 
the  heart  ;  the  applause,  the  pageant,  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
scene,  intoxicated — confused  him.  He  lifted  his  eyes  and  saw 
before  him  the  sister  of  the  Tribune — the  lady  of  his  love  ! 
His  indecision — his  pause — continued,  when  Raimond,  observ- 
ing him,  and  obedient  to  a  whisper  from  Rienzi,  artfully  cried 
aloud  :  "Room  for  the  Lord  Adrian  di  Castello  !  a  Colonna! 
a  Colonna  I  "  Retreat  was  cut  off.  Mechanically,  and  as  if  in 
a  dream^  Adrian  ascended  to  the  platform  :  and  to  complete 
the  triumph  of  the  Tribune,  the  sun's  last  ray  beheld  the  flower 
of  the  Colonna — the  best  and  bravest  c«i  the  Barons  of  Romc-^ 
confessing  his  authority,  and  subscribing  to  his  laws  I 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  t4j 

BOOK   III. 


THE  FREEDOM  WITHOUT  LAW. 

*•  Ben  furo  avventurosi  i  cavalieri 
Ch'  erano  a  quella  eta,  clie  nei  valloni, 
Nelle  scure  spelonche  e  boschi  fieri, 
Tane  di  serpi,  d'  orsi  e  di  ieoni, 
Trovavan  quel  che  nei  palazzi  altieri 
Appena  or  trovar  pon  giudici  buoni ; 
Donne  che  nella  lor  piu  fresca  etade 
Sien  degne  di  aver  titol  di  beltade." 

Ariosto,  Orl.  Fur.  can.  xiil  t. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE   RETURN  OF  WALTER    DE    MONTREAL    TO    HIS    FORTRESS. 

When  Walter  de  Montreal  and  his  mercenaries  quitted  Cor- 
neto  they  made  the  best  of  their  way  to  Rome  ;  arriving  there, 
long  before  the  barons,  they  met  with  a  similar  reception  at  the 
ejates,  but  Montreal  prudently  forbore  all  attack  and  menace, 
<ind  contented  himself  with  sending  his  trusty  Rodolf  into  the 
city  to  seek  Rienzi,  and  to  crave  permission  to  enter  with  his 
troop.  Rodolf  returned  in  a  shorter  time  than  was  antici- 
pated. "  Well,"  said  Montreal  impatiently,  "  you  have  the 
order,  I  suppose.     Shall  we  bid  them  open  the  gates?" 

"Bid  them  open  our  graves,"  replied  the  Saxon  bluntly.  "I 
*TUSt  my  next  heraldry  will  be  to  a  more  friendly  court." 

"  How  !  what  mean  you  ?  " 

"  Briefly  this  :  I  found  the  new  governor,  or  whatever  his 
title,  in  the  palace  of  the  Capitol,  surrounded  by  guards  and 
councillors,  and  in  a  suit  of  the  finest  armor  I  ever  saw  out  of 
Milan." 

"Pest  on  his  armor  !  give  us  his  answer." 

**  *  Tell  Walter  de  Montreal,'  said  he,  then,  if  you  will  have 
?t,  *  that  Rome  is  no  longer  a  den  of  thieves ;  tell  him,  that  if 
he  enters,  he  must  abide  a  trial — * " 

"  A  trial !  "  cried  Montreal,  grinding  his  teeth. 

"  *  For  participation  in  the  evil  doings  of  Werner  and  his  free- 
booters.* *' 

"  Ha  !  " 

***Tell  him,  moreover,  that  Rome  declares  war  against  aU 


144  RIEN2!, 

robbers,  whether  in  tent  or  tower,  and  that  we  order  him  m 

forty-eight  hours  to  quit  the  territories  of  the  Church," 

"He  thinks,  then,  not  only  to  deceive,  but  to  menace  me? 
Well,  proceed." 

"  That  was  all  his  reply  to  you  ;  to  me,  however,  Ik;  .  ouch- 
safed  a  caution  still  more  obliging.  '  Hark  ye,  fric  „  said  he, 
*for  every  German  bandit  found  in  Rome  after  to-morrow,  our 
welcome  will  be  cord  and  gibbet  !     Begone.'"  , 

"  Enough  !  enough  !  "  cried  Montreal,  coloring  with  rage 
and  shame.  "Rodolf,  you  have  a  skilful  eye  ii^  these  matters: 
how  many  Northmen  would  it  take  to  give  that  same  gibbet  to 
the  upstart  ?" 

Rodolf  scratched  his  huge  head,  and  seemed  awhile  lost  in 
calculation  ;  at  length  he  said  :  "You,  captain,  must  be  the  best 
judge,  when  I  tell  you,  that  twenty  thousand  Romans  are  the 
least  of  his  force ;  so  I  heard,  by  the  way ;  and  this  evening  he 
is  to  accept  the  crown,  and  depose  the  Emperor." 

"  Ha,  hi  !  "  laughed  Montreal,  "  is  he  so  mad  ?  then  he  will 
want  not  our  aid  to  hang  himself.  My  friends,  let  us  wait  the 
result.  At  present  neither  barons  nor  people  seem  likely  to  fill 
our  coffers.  Let  us  across  the  country  to  Terracina.  Thank  the 
saints,"  and  Montreal  (who  was  not  without  a  strange  kind  of 
devotion, — indeed  he  deemed  that  virtue  essential  to  chivalry) 
crossed  himself  piously,  "the  Free  Companions  are  never  long 
without  quarters  !  " 

"  Hurrah  for  the  Knights  of  St.  John  !  '*  cried  the  merce- 
naries. *•  And  hurrah  for  fair  Provence  and  bold  Germany  !  " 
added  the  Knight,  as  he  waved  his  hand  on  high,  struck  spurs 
into  his  already  wearied  horse,  and,  breaking  out  into  his  favor- 
ite song, 

**  His  steed  and  his  sword, 
And  his  lady  the  peerless,"  etc. 

Montreal,  with  his  troop,  struck  gallantly  across  the  Campagna. 
The  Knight  of  St.  John  soon,  however,  fell  into  an  absorbed 
and  moody  reverie ;  and  his  followers  imitating  the  silence  of 
their  chief,  in  a  few  minutes  the  clatter  of  their  arms  and  the 
jingle  of  their  spurs  alone  disturbed  the  stillness  of  the  wide 
and  gloomy  plains  across  which  they  made  towards  Terracina. 
Montreal  was  recalling  with  bitter  resentment  his  conference 
with  Rienzi ;  and,  proud  of  his  own  sagacity  and  talent  for 
scheming,  he  was  humbled  and  vexed  at  the  discovery  that  he 
had  been  duped  by  a  wilier  intriguer.  His  ambitious  designs 
on  Rome,  too,  were  crossed,  and  even  crushed  for  the  moment, 
by  the  very  means  to  which  he  had  looked  for  their  execution. 


THE  LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  14| 

He  had  seen  enough  of  the  Barons  to  feel  assured  that  while 
Stephen  Colonna  lived,  the  head  of  the  order,  he  was  not  likely 
to  obtain  that  mastery  in  the  State,  which,  if  leagued  with  a 
more  ambitious  or  less  timid  and  less  potent  signer,  might  re- 
ward his  aid  in  expelling  Rienzi.  Under  all  circumstances  he 
deemed  it  advisable  to  remain  aloof.  Should  Rienzi  grow 
strong,  Montreal  might  make  the  advantageous  terms  he  de- 
sired with  the  Barons  ;  should  Rienzi's  power  decay,  his  pride, 
necessarily  humbled,  might  drive  him  to  seek  the  assistance, 
and  submit  to  the  proposals,  of  Montreal.  The  ambition  of 
the  Provencal,  though  vast  and  daring,  was  not  of  a  consistent 
and  persevering  nature.  Action  and  enterprise  were  dearer  to 
him,  as  yet,  than  the  rewards  which  they  proffered  ;  and  if 
baffled  in  one  quarter,  he  turned  himself,  with  the  true  spirit 
of  the  knight-errant,  to  any  other  field  for  his  achievements. 
Louis,  King  of  Hungary,  stern,  warlike,  implacable,  seeking 
vengeance  for  the  murder  of  his  brother,  the  ill-fated  husband 
of  Joanna  (the  beautiful  and  guilty  queen  of  Naples — the 
Mary  Stuart  of  Italy),  had  already  prepared  himself  to  subject 
the  garden  of  Campania  to  the  Hungarian  yoke.  Already  his 
bastard  brother  had  entered  Italy  ;  already  some  of  the  Neapoli- 
tan states  had  declared  in  his  favor ;  already  promises  had 
been  held  out  by  the  Northern  monarch  to  the  scattered  Com- 
panies ;  and  already  those  fierce  mercenaries  gathered  men- 
acingly round  the  frontiers  of  that  Eden  of  Italy,  attracted,  as 
vultures  to  the  carcass,  by  the  preparation  of  war  and  the  hope  of 
plunder.  Such  was  the  field  to  which  the  bold  mind  of  Mont- 
real now  turned  his  thoughts  ;  and  his  soldiers  had  joyfully  con- 
jectured his  design  when  they  had  heard  him  fix  Terracina  as 
their  bourne.  Provident  of  every  resource,  and  refining  his  auda- 
cious and  unprincipled  valor  by  a  sagacity  which  promised,  when 
years  had  more  matured  and  sobered  his  restless  chivalry,  to  rank 
him  among  the  most  dangerous  enemies  Italy  had  ever  known, 
on  the  first  sign  of  Louis's  warlike  intentions,  Montreal  hac' 
seized  and  fortified  a  strong  castle  on  that  delicious  coast  beyond 
Terracina,  by  which  lies  the  celebrated  pass  once  held  by  Fabius 
against  Hannibal,  and  which  Nature  has  so  favored  for  war  as 
for  peace,  that  a  handful  of  armed  men  might  stop  the  march 
of  an  army.  The  possession  of  such  a  fortress  on  the  very 
frontiers  of  Naples  gave  Montreal  an  importance  of  which  he 
trusted  to  avail  himself  with  the  Hungarian  king  ;  and  now, 
thwarted  in  his  more  grand  and  aspiring  projects  upon  Rome, 
his  sanguine,  active,  and  elastic  spirit  congratulated  itself  upon 
the  resource  it  had  secured. 


I46  RIENZI, 

The  band  halted  at  nightfall  on  this  side  the  Pontine  Marshes, 
seizing  without  scruple  some  huts  and  sheds,  from  which  tliey 
ejected  the  miserable  tenants,  and  slaughtering  with  no  greater 
ceremony  the  swine,  cattle,  and  i)oultry  of  a  neighboring  farm. 
Shortly  after  sunrise  they  crossed  those  fatal  swamps  which 
had  already  been  partially  drained  by  Boniface  Vlll.  ;  and 
Montreal,  refreshed  by  sleep,  reconciled  to  his  late  mortifica- 
tion by  the  advantages  opened  to  him  in  the  approaching  war 
with  Naples,  and  rejoicing  as  he  approached  a  home  which 
Tield  one  who  alone  divided  his  heart  with  ambition,  had  re- 
sumed all  the  gayety  which  belonged  to  his  Gallic  birth  and  his 
reckless  habits.  And  that  deadly  but  consecrated  road,  where 
yet  may  be  seen  the  labors  of  Augustus,  in  the  canal  which 
had  witnessed  the  voyage  so  humorously  described  by  Horace, 
echoed  with  the  loud  laughter  and  frequent  snatches  of  wild 
song  by  which  the  barbarian  robbers  enlivened  their  rapid 
march. 

It  was  noon  when  the  company  entered  upon  that  romantic 
pass  I  have  before  referred  to — the  ancient  Lantulae.  High  to 
the  left  rose  steep  and  lofty  rocks,  then  covered  by  the  prodigal 
verdure,  and  the  countless  flowers,  of  the  closing  May  ;  while 
to  the  right  the  sea,  gentle  as  a  lake,  and  blue  as  heaven,  rip- 
pled musically  at  their  feet.  Montreal,  who  largely  possessed 
the  poetry  of  his  land,  which  is  so  eminently  allied  with  a  love 
of  nature,  might  at  another  time  have  enjoyed  the  beauty  of  the 
scene  ;  but  at  that  moment  less  external  and  more  household 
images  were  busy  within  him. 

Abruptly  ascending  where  a  winding  path  up  the  mountain 
offered  a  rough  and  painful  road  to  their  horses'  feet,  the  band 
at  length  arrived  before  a  strong  fortress  of  gray  stone,  whose 
lowers  were  concealed  by  the  lofty  foliage,  until  they  emerged 
sullenly  and  suddenly  from  the  laughing  verdure.  The  sound 
of  the  bugle,  the  pennon  of  the  knight,  the  rapid  watchword, 
produced  a  loud  shout  of  welcome  from  a  score  or  two  of  grim 
soldiery  on  the  walls  ;  the  portcullis  was  raised,  and  Montreal, 
throwing  himself  hastily  from  his  panting  steed,  sprung  across 
the  threshold  of  a  jutting  porch,  and  traversed  a  huge  hall, 
when  a  lady — young,  fair,  and  richly  dressed — met  him  with  a 
step  equally  swift,  and  fell  breathless  and  overjoyed  in  his 
arms, 

"  My  Walter !  my  dear,  dear  Walter  ;  welcome — ten  thou- 
sand welcomes  !  " 

"  Adeline,  my  beautiful,  my  adored — I  see  thee  again  !" 

Such  were  the  greetings  interchanged  as  Montreal  pressed 


The  last  oi  the  tribunes.  E47 

fiis  lady  to  his  heart,  kissing  away  her  tears,  and  lifting  her 
face  to  his,  while  be  gazed  on  its  delicate  bloom  with  all  the 
wistful  anxiety  of  affection  after  absence. 

"  Fairest,"  said  he  tenderly,  *'  thou  hast  pined,  thou  hast  lost 
roundness  and  color  since  we  parted.  Come,  come,  thou  art 
too  gentle,  or  too  foolish,  for  a  soldier's  love.  ' 

"Ah,  Walter  !"  replied  Adeline,  clinging  to  him,  "  now  thou 
art  returned,  and  I  shall  be  well.  Thou  wilt  not  leave  me 
again  a  long,  long  time." 

*'  Sweet  one,  no  ";  and  flinging  his  arm  round  her  waist,  the 
lovers — for  alas  !  they  were  not  wedded ! — retired  to  the  more 
private  chambers  of  the  castle. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   LIFE  OF   LOVE   AND  WAR. — THE    MESSENGER  OF  PEACE.—* 

THE    JOUST. 

Girt  with  his  soldiery,  secure  In  his  feudal  hold,  enchanted 
with  the  beauty  of  the  earth,  sky,  and  sea  around,  and  passion- 
ately adoring  his  Adeline,  Montreal  for  awhile  forgot  all  his 
more  stirring  projects  and  his  ruder  occupations.  His  nature 
was  capable  of  great  tenderness,  as  of  great  ferocity  ;  and  his 
heart  smote  him  when  he  looked  at  the  fair  cheek  of  his  lady, 
find  saw  that  even  his  presence  did  not  suffice  to  bring  back 
the  smile  and  the  fresh  hues  of  old.  Often  he  cursed  that  fatal 
oath  of  his  knightly  order  which  forbade  him  to  wed,  though 
with  one  more  than  his  equal  ;  and  remorse  embittered  his 
happiest  hours.  That  gentle  lady  in  that  robber  hold,  severed 
from  all  she  had  been  taught  most  to  prize — mother,  friends, 
and  fair  fame — only  loved  her  seducer  the  more  intensely  :• 
only  the  more  concentrated  upon  one  object  all  the  womanly 
and  tender  feelings  denied  every  other  and  less  sinful  vent. 
But  she  felt  her  shame  though  she  sought  to  conceal  it,  and  a 
yet  more  gnawing  grief  than  even  that  of  shame  contributed 
to  prey  upon  her  spirits  and  undermine  her  health.  Yet  withal, 
in  Montreal's  presence  she  was  happy,  even  in  regret ;  and  in 
her  declining  health  she  had  at  least  a  consolation  in  the  hope 
to  die  while  his  love  was  undiminished.  Sometimes  they  made 
short  excursions,  for  the  disturbed  state  of  the  country  forbade 
them  to  wander  far  from  the  castle,  through  the  sunny  woods, 
And  along  the  glassy  sea^  which  t^ake  the  charm  of  that 


14^  rYe'nzi, 

delicious  scenery ;  and  that  mixture  of  the  savage  with  the 
lendei,  the  wild  escort,  the  tent  in  some  green  glade  in  the 
woods  at  noon,  the  lute  and  the  voice  of  Adeline,  with  the  fierce 
soldiers  grouped  and  listening  at  the  distance,  might  have  well 
suited  the  verse  of  Ariosto,  and  harmonized  singularly  with 
":hat  strange,  disordered,  yet  chivalric  time,  in  which  the  Classic 
South  became  the  seat  of  the  Northern  Romance.  Still,  how- 
ever, Montreal  maintained  his  secret  intercourse  with  the 
Hungarian  king,  and,  plunged  into  new  projects,  willingly  for- 
sook for  the  present  all  his  designs  on  Rome.  Yet  deemed  he 
that  his  more  august  ambition  was  only  delayed,  and  bright 
in  the  more  distant  prospects  of  his  adventurous  career,  rose 
the  Capitol  of  Rome  and  shone  the  sceptre  of  the  Caesars. 

One  day,  as  Montreal,  with  a  small  troop  in  attendance, 
passed  on  horseback  near  the  walls  of  Terracina,  the  gates 
were  suddenly  thrown  open,  and  a  numerous  throng  issued 
forth,  preceded  by  a  singular  figure,  whose  steps  they  followed 
bareheaded  and  with  loud  blessings ;  a  train  of  monks  closed 
the  procession,  chanting  a  hymn,  of  which  the  concluding 
words  were  as  follows  : 

Beauteous  on  the  mountains — lo, 

The  feet  of  him  glad  tidings  gladly  bringing ; 
The  flowers  along  his  pathway  grow, 

And  voices  heard  aloft,  to  angel  harps  are  singing : 
And  strife  and  slaughter  cea^e 

Before  thy  blessed  way,  Young  Messenger  of  Peace  f 

O'er  the  mount  and  through  the  moor, 

Glide  thy  holy  steps  secure. 

Day  and  night  no  fear  thou  knowest. 

Lonely — but  with  God  thou  goest. 

Where  the  Heathen  rage  the  fiercest, 

Through  the  armed  throng  thou  piercest.   , 

For  thy  coat  of-  mail  bedi^ht 

In  thy  spotless  robe  of  white, 

For  the  sinful  sword — thy  hand 

Bearing  bright  the  silver  wand  : 

Through  the  camp  and  through  the  court* 

Through  the  bandit's  gloomy  fort. 

On  the  mis'^ion  of  the  dove, 

Speeds  the  minister  of  love  ; 

By  a  word  the  wildest  taming 

And  the  world  to  Christ  reclaiming: 

While,  as  once  the  waters  trod 

By  the  footsteps  of  thy  God, 

War  and  wrath  and  rapine  cease, 
Hush'd  round  thy  charmed  path,  O  Messenger  of  Peace  ! 

The  stranger  to  whom  these  honors  were  paid  was  a  young 
unbcfikrded  man,  cloth§d  in  white  wrought  with  silvei  ;  he  was 


titE  LAST   OF   Ttiti   TRIBUNEg.  14^ 

unarmed  and  barefooted  ;  in  his  hand  he  held  a  tall  silver 
wand.  Montreal  and  his  party  halted  in  astonishment  and 
wonder,  and  the  knight,  spurring  his  horse  toward  the  crowd, 
confronted  the  stranger. 

"  How,  friend,"  quoth  the  Provencal,  **is  thine  a  new  order 
of  pilgrims,  or  what  especial  holiness  has  won  thee  this 
homage  !  " 

"Back,  back,"  cried  some  of  the  bolder  of  the  crowd,  *' 1st 
not  the  robber  dare  arrest  the  Messenger  of  Peace." 
I     Montreal  waved  his  hand  disdainfully. 

"  I  speak  not  to  you,  good  sirs,  and  the  worthy  friars  in  your 
rear  know  full  well  that  I  never  injured  herald  or  palmer." 

The  monks,  ceasing  from  their  hymn,  advanced  hastily  w 
the  spot ;  and  indeed  the  devotion  of  Montreal  had  eve* 
induced  him  to  purchase  the  good-will  of  whatever  monastery 
neighbored  his  wandering  home. 

*' My  son,"  said  the  eldest  of  the  brethren,  "this  is  a  strange 
spectacle,  and  a  sacred  ;  and  when  thou  learnest  all,  thou 
wilt  rather  give  the  messenger  a  passport  of  safety  from  the 
unthinking  courage  of  thy  friends  than  intercept  his  path 
of  peace." 

"  Ye  puzzle  still  more  my  simple  brain,'*  said  Montreal  im- 
patiently, '4et  the  youth  speak  for  himself;  I  perceive  that  on 
his  mantle  are  the  arms  of  Rome  blended  with  other  quarter- 
ings,  which  are  a  mystery  to  me, — though  sufficiently  versed  in 
heraldic  art  as  befits  a  noble  and  a  knight." 

"  Signor,"  said  the  youth  gravely,  "know  in  me  the  messen- 
ger of  Cola  di  Rienzi,  Tribune  of  Rome,  charged  with  letters 
to  many  a  baron  and  prince  in  the  ways  between  Rome  and 
Naples.  The  arms  wrought  upon  my  mantle  are  those  of  the 
Pontiff,  the  City,  and  the  Tribune." 

"  Umph  ;  thou  must  have  bold  nerves  to  traverse  the  Cam- 
pagna  with  no  other  weapon  than  that  stick  of  silver  !  " 

"  Thou  art  mistaken,  Sir  Knight,"  replied  the  youth  boldly, 
"  and  judgest  of  the  present  by  the  past ;  know  that  not  a  single 
robber  now  lurks  within  the  Campagna,  the  arms  of  the  Tribune 
have  rendered  every  road  around  the  city  as  secure  as  the 
broadest  street  of  the  city  itself." 
"Thou  tellest  me  wonders." 

"Through  the  forest,  and  in  the  fortress  ;  through  the  wild- 
est solitudes ;  through  the  most  populous  towns,  have  my 
comrades  borne  this  silver  wand  unmolested  and  unscathed ; 
wherever  we  pass  along  thousands  hail  us,  and  tears  of  joy 
bless  the  messengers  of   him   who  hath  expelled   the  brigand 


J50  RIENZr, 

from  his  hold,  the  tyrant  from  his  castle,  and  ensured  the 
gains  of  the  merchant  and  the  hut  of  the  peasant." 

''' FardUu,''  said  Montreal,  with  a  stern  smile,  "I  ought  to 
be  thankful  for  the  preference  shown  to  me  ;  I  have  not  yet 
received  the  commands,  nor  felt  the  vengeance,  of  the  tribune  ; 
yet,  methinks,  my  humble  castle  lies  just  within  the  patrimony 
of  St.  Peter." 

"Pardon  me,  Signor  Cavalier,"  said  the  youth;  "but  do  I 
address  the  renowned  Knight  of  St.  John,  warrior  of  the  CrosSy 
yet  leader  of  banditti?" 

"Boy,  you  are  bold  ;  I  am  Walter  de  Montreal." 

**  I  am  bound,  then,  Sir  Knight,  to  your  castle." 

"  Take  care  how  thou  reach  it  before  me,  or  thou  standest  a 
fair  chance  of  a  quick  exit.  How  now,  my  friends  ! "  seeing 
that  the  crowd  at  these  words  gathered  closer  round  the  mes- 
senger, **  think  ye  that  I,  who  have  my  mate  in  kings,  would 
find  a  victim  in  an  unarmed  boy  ?  Fie  !  give  way — give  way. 
Young  man,  follow  me  homeward  ;  you  are  safe  in  my  castle  as 
in  your  mother's  arms."  So  saying,  Montreal,  with  great  dig- 
nity and  deliberate  gravity,  rode  slowly  towards  his  castle,  his 
soldiers,  wondering,  at  a  little  distance,  and  the  white-robed 
messenger  following  with  the  crowd,  who  refused  to  depart ;  so 
great  was  their  enthusiasm,  that  they  even  ascended  to  the 
gates  of  the  dreaded  castle,  and  insisted  on  waiting  without 
until  the  return  of  the  youtli  assured  them  of  his  safety. 

Montreal,  who,  however  lawless  elsewhere,  strictly  preserved 
the  rights  of  the  meanest  boor  in  his  immediate  neighborhood, 
and  rather  affected  popularity  with  the  poor,  bade  the  crowd 
enter  the  court-yard,  ordered  his  servitors  to  provide  them  with 
wine  and  refreshment,  regaled  the  good  monks  in  his  great 
hall,  and  then  led  the  way  to  a  small  room,  where  he  received 
the  messenger. 

"This,"  said  the  youth,  "will  best  explain  my  mission,"  as 
he  placed  a  letter  before  Montreal. 

The  knight  cut  the  silk  with  his  dagger,  and  read  the  epistle 
with  great  composure. 

"  Your  Tribune,"  said  he,  when  he  had  finished  it,  **  has 
learned  the  laconic  style  of  power  very  soon.  He  orders  me 
to  render  this  castle,  and  vacate  the  Papal  Territory  within  ten 
days.  He  is  obliging  ;  I  must  have  breathing  time  to  consider 
the  proposal  ;  be  seated,  I  pray  you,  young  sir.  Forgive  me, 
but  I  should  have  imagined  that  your  lord  had  enough  upon 
his  hands  with  his  Roman  barons,  to  make  him  a  little  more 
indulgent  to  us  foreign  visitors.     Stephen  Colcnna — " 


THE    LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  I15I 

**  Is  returned  to  Rome,  and  has  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance ; 
the  Savelli,  the  Orsini,  the  Frangipani,  have  all  subscribed 
their  submission  to  the  Buojio  Stato.'* 

"How  !  "  cried  Montreal,  in  great  surprise. 

"Not  only  have  they  returned,  but  they  have  submitted  to 
the  dispersion  of  all  their  mercenaries,  and  the  dismantling  of 
all  their  fortifications.  The  iron  of  the  Orsini  palace  now  bar- 
ricades the  Capitol,  and  the  stone-work  of  the  Colonna  and  the 
Savelli  has  added  new  battlements  to  the  gates  of  the  Lateran 
and  St.  Laurence." 

"  Wonderful  man  !  "  said  Montreal,  with  reluctant  admira- 
tion.    "By  what  means  was  this  effected?" 

"  A  stern  command  and  a  strong  force  to  back  it.  At  the 
first  sound  of  the  great  bell,  twenty  thousand  Romans  rise  in 
arms.  What  to  such  an  army  are  the  brigands  of  an  Orsini  or 
a  Colonna?  Sir  Knight,  your  valor  and  renown  make  even 
Rome  admire  you  ;   and  I,  a  Roman,  bid  you  beware." 

"  Well  I  thank  thee  ;  thy  news,  friend,  robs  me  of  breath. 
So  the  Barons  submit,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes  :  on  the  first  day,  one  of  the  Colonna,  the  Lord 
Adrian,  took  the  oath  :  within  a  week  Stephen,  assured  of  safe 
conduct,  left  Palestrina,  the  Savelli  in  his  train  ;  the  Orsini  fol- 
lowed— even  Martino  di  Porto  has  silently  succumbed." 

"The  Tribune — but  is  that  his  dignity  ?  methought  he  v/as  to 
be  king — ' 

"  He  was  offered,  and  he  refused,  the  title.  His  present 
rank,  which  arrogates  no  patrician  honors,  went  far  to  concil- 
ate  the  nobles." 

"  A  wise  knave  !  I  beg  pardon,  a  sagacious  prince  !  Well, 
then,  the  Tribune  lords  it  mightily,  I  suppose,  over  the  great 
Roman  names  ?" 

"  Pardon  me,  he  enforces  impartial  justice  from  peasant  or 
patrician  :  but  he  preserves  to  the  nobles  all  their  just  priv- 
ileges and  legal  rank." 

"  Ha !  and  the  vain  puppets,  so  they  keep  the  semblance^ 
scarce  miss  the  substance — I  understand.  But  this  shows 
genius.  The  Tribune  is  unwed,  I  think.  Does  he  look  among 
the  Colonna  for  a  wife  ? " 

"  Sir  Knight,  the  Tribune  is  already  married  :  within  three 
days  after  his  ascension  to  power  he  won  and  bore  home  the 
daughter  of  the  Baron  di  Raselli." 

"  Raselli  !  no  great  name  ;  he  might  have  done  better.*' 

"  But  it  is  said,  "  resumed  the  youth,  smiling,  "  tliat  the 
Tribune    will    shortly    be    allied    to    the    Colonna,   through 


152  RIENZI, 

his  fair  sister  the  Signora  Irene.  The  Baron  di  Castello  woog 
her." 

"  What,  Adrian  Colonna  !  Enough  !  you  have  convinced  me 
that  a  man  who  contents  the  people  and  awes  or  conciliates  the 
nobles  is  born  for  empire.  My  answer  to  this  letter  I  will  send 
myself.  For  your  news,  Sir  Messenger,  accept  this  jewel,"  and 
the  knight  took  from  his  finger  a  gem  of  some  price.  "  Nay, 
shrink  not,  it  was  as  freely  given  to  me  as  it  is  now  to  thee." 

The  youth,  who  had  been  agreeably  surprised  and  impressed 
by  the  manner  of  the  renowned  freebooter,  and  who  was  not  a 
little  astonislied  himself  with  the  ease  and  familiarity  with 
which  he  had  been  relating  to  Fra  Moreale,  in  his  own  fortress, 
the  news  of  Rome,  bowed  low  as  he  accepted  the  gift. 

The  astute  Provengal,  who  saw  the  evident  impression  he 
had  made,  perceived  also  that  it  might  be  of  advantage  in  de- 
laying the  measures  he  might  deem  it  expedient  to  adopt. 
"Assure  the  Tribune,"  said  he,  on  dismissing  the  messenger, 
*'shouldst  thou  return  ere  my  letter  arrive,  that  I  admire  his 
genius,  hail  his  power,  and  will  not  fail  to  consider  as  favor- 
ably as  I  may  of  his  demand." 

"  Better,"  said  the  messenger  warmly  (he  was  of  good  blood, 
and  gentle  bearing), — "better  ten  tyrants  for  our  enemy,  than 
one  Montreal." 

"  An  enemy  !  believe  me,  sir,  I  seek  no  enmity  with  princes 
who  know  how  to  govern,  or  a  people  that  has  the  wisdom  at 
once  to  rule  and  to  obey." 

The  whole  of  that  day,  however,  Montreal  remained  thought- 
ful and  uneasy  ;  he  despatched  trusty  messengers  to  the  Gov- 
ernor of  Aquila  (who  was  then  in  correspondence  with  Louis 
of  Hungary),  to  Naples,  and  to  Rome — the  last  charged  with  a 
letter  to  the  Tribune,  which,  without  absolutely  compromising 
himself,  affected  submission,  and  demanded  only  a  longer  lei- 
sure for  the  preparations  of  departure.  But,  at  the  same  time, 
fresh  fortifications  were  added  to  the  castle,  ample  provisions 
were  laid  in,  and,  night  and  day,  spies  and  scouts  were  sta- 
honed  along  the  pass,  and  in  the  town  of  Terracina.  Mon- 
treal was  precisely  the  chief  who  prepared  most  for  war  when 
most  he  pretended  peace. 

One  morning,  the  f-fth  from  the  appearance  of  the  Roman 
m.essenger,  Montreal,  after  narrowly  surveying  his  outworks  and 
his  stores,  and  feeling  satisfied  that  he  could  hold  out  at  least 
a  month's  siege,  repaired,  with  a  gayer  countenance  than  he 
had  lately  worn,  to  the  chamber  of  Adeline. 

The-  iady  was  seated  by  the  casement  of  th?  tower,  frou) 


TKr.  LAST   OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  I53 

which  might  be  seen  the  glorious  landscape  of  woods,  and 
vales,  and  orange  groves — a  strange  garden  for  such  a  palace  ! 
As  she  leant  her  face  upon  her  hand,  with  her  profile  slightly 
turned  to  Montreal,  there  was  something  ineffably  graceful  in 
the  bend  of  her  neck, — the  small  head  so  expressive  of  gentle 
blood, — with  the  locks  parted  in  front  in  that  simple  fashion 
which  modern  times  have  so  happily  revived.  But  the  expres- 
sion of  the  half-averted  face,  the  abstracted  intentness  of  the 
gft£e,  and  the  profound  stillness  of  the  attitude,  were  so  sad 
and  mournful,  that  Montreal's  proposed  greeting  of  gallantry 
and  gladness  died  upon  his  lips.  He  approached  in  silence,  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

Adeline  turned,  and  taking  the  hand  in  hers,  pressed  it  to 
her  heart,  and  smiled  away  all  her  sadness.  "  Dearest,"  said 
Montreal,  "  could  thou  know  how  much  any  shadow  of  grief 
on  thy  bright  face  darkens  my  heart,  thou  wouldst  never  grieve. 
But  no  wonder  that  in  these  rude  walls — no  female  of  equal 
rank  near  thee,  and  such  mirth  as  Montreal  can  summon  to  his 
halls,  grating  to  thy  ear — no  wonder  that  thou  repentest  thee 
of  thy  choice." 

"  Ah,  no,  no,  Walter,  I  never  repent.  I  did  but  think  of  our 
child  as  you  entered.  Alas  !  he  was  our  only  child  !  How 
fair  he  was,  Walter  ;  how  he  resembled  thee  !  " 

"  Nay,  he  had  thine  eyes  and  brow,"  replied  the  Knight, 
with  a  faltering  voice,  and  turning  away  his  head. 

"  Walter,"  resumed  the  lady,  sighing,  "do  you  remember? 
this  is  his  birthday.  He  is  ten  years  old  to-day.  We  have 
loved  each  other  eleven  years,  and  thou  hast  not  tired  yet  of  thy 
poor  Adeline." 

"  As  well  might  the  saints  weary  of  paradise,"  replied  Mon- 
treal, with  an  enamoured  tenderness,  which  changed  into  soft- 
ness the  whole  character  of  his  heroic  countenance. 

"  Could  I  think  so,  I  should  indeed  be  blest  ! "  answered 
Adeline.  "  But  a  little  while  longer,  and  the  few  charms  I  yet 
possess  must  fade  ;  and  what  other  claim  have  I  on  thee  ?  " 

"All  claim  ;  the  memory  of  thy  first  blushes — thy  first  kiss — 
of  C.iy  devoted  sacrifices — of  thy  patient  wanderings — of  thy 
uncomplaining  love  !  Ah,  Adeline,  we  are  of  Provence,  not 
of  Italy ;  and  when  did  Knight  of  Provence  avoid  his  foe,  or 
forsake  his  love  ?  But  enough,  dearest,  of  home  and  melancholy 
for  to-day.  I  come  to  bid  thee  forth.  I  have  sent  on  the  ser- 
vitors to  pitch  our  tent  beside  the  sea  ;  we  will  enjoy  the  orange 
blossoms  while  we  may.  Ere  another  week  pass  over  us  WC 
may  have  sterner  pastime  and  closer  confines." 


t54  RIENft 


"  How,  dearest  Walter  !  thou  dost  not  apprehend  danger?** 

**  Thou  speakest,  lady-bird,"  said  Montreal,  laughing,  "as  if 
danger  were  novelty  ;  methinks  by  this  time  thou  shouldst 
know  it  as  the  atmosphere  we  breathe." 

**  Ah,  Walter,  is  this  to  last  forever  ?  Thou  art  now  rich  and 
renowned  ;  canst  tliou  not  abandon  this  career  of  strife  ?" 

"  Now,  out  on  thee,  Adeline.  What  are  riches  and  renown 
but  the  means  to  power  ?  And  for  strife,  the  shield  of  warriors 
was  my  cradle — pray  the  saints  it  be  my  bier  I  These  wild  an::^ 
wizard  extremes  of  life — from  the  bower  to  the  tent ;  from  the 
cavern  to  the  palace  ;  to-day  a  wandering  exile,  to-morrow  ',hf 
equal  of  kings — make  the  true  element  of  the  chivalry  of  my 
Norman  sires.  Normandy  taught  me  war,  and  sweet  Provence 
love.  Kiss  me,  dear  Adeline ;  and  now  let  thy  handmaids 
attire  thee.  Forget  not  thy  lute,  sweet  one.  We  will  rouse  the 
echoes  with  the  songs  of  Provence." 

The  ductile  temper  of  Adeline  yielded  easily  to  the  gaiety 
of  her  lord  :  and  the  party  soon  sallied  from  the  castle  towards 
the  spot  in  which  Montreal  had  designed  their  resting  place 
during  the  heats  of  day  But  already  prepared  for  all  sur- 
prise, the  castle  was  left  strictly  guarded,  and  besides  the  do- 
mestic servitors  of  the  castle,  a  detachment  of  ten  soldiers, 
completely  armed,  accompanied  the  lovers.  Montreal  himself 
wore  his  corselet,  and  his  'squires  followed  with  his  helmet  and 
lance.  Beyond  the  narrow  defile  at  the  base  of  the  castle,  the 
road  at  that  day  opened  into  a  broad  patch  of  verdure,  circled 
on  all  sides,  save  that  open  to  the  sea,  by  wood,  interspersed 
with  myrtle  and  orange,  and  a  wilderness  of  odorous  f)hrubs. 
In  this  space,  and  sheltered  by  the  broad-spreading  and  classic 
fagus  (so  improperly  translated  into  the  English  beech),  a  gar 
pavilion  was  prepared,  which  commanded  the  view  of  th' 
sparkling  sea  ;  shaded  from  the  sun,  but  open  to  the  gentl? 
breeze.  This  was  poor  Adeline's  favorite  recreation,  if  recrea 
tion  it  might  be  called.  She  rejoiced  to  escape  from  the  gloom?' 
walls  of  her  castellated  prison,  and  to  enjoy  the  sunshine  and 
the  sweets  of  that  voluptuous  climate  without  the  fatigue  which 
of  late  all  exercises  occasioned  her.  It  was  a  gallantry  on  the 
part  of  Montreal,  who  foresaw  how  short  an  interval  might 
elapse  before  the  troops  of  Rienzi  besieged  his  walls ;  and  who 
was  himself  no  less  at  home  in  the  bower  than    in  the  field. 

As  they  reclined  within  the  pavilion — the  lover  and  his  lady, — 
of  the  attendants  without,  some  lounged  idly  on  the  beach; 
some  prepared  the  awning  of  a  pleasure-boat  against  the  de- 
cline of  the  sun  j  some,  in  a  ruder  tent,   out  of  sight  in   th^ 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  155 

wood,  arranged  the  midday  repast ;  while  the  strings  of  the 
lute,  touched  by  Montreal  himself  with  a  careless  skill,  gave 
their  music  to  the  dreamy  stillness  of  the  noon. 

While  thus  employed,  one  of  Montreal's  scouts  arrived 
breathless  and  heated  at  the  tent. 

"  Captain,"  said  he,  a  company  of  thirty  lances,  completely 
armed,  with  a  long  retinue  of  'squires  and  pages,  have  just 
quitted  Terracina.  Their  banners  bear  the  two-fold  insignia 
of  Rome  and  the  Colonna." 

"  Ho  !  "  said  Montreal  gaily,  "such  a  troop  is  a  welcome  ad- 
dition to  our  company  ;  send  our  'squire  hither." 

The  'squire  appeared. 

*'  Hie  thee  on  thy  steed  towards  the  procession  thou  wilt 
meet  with  in  the  pass  (nay,  sweet  lady  mine,  no  forbiddal !), 
seek  the  chief,  and  say  that  the  good  knight  Walter  de  Mon- 
treal sends  him  greeting,  and  prays  him,  in  passing  our  proper 
territory,  to  rest  awhile  with  us  a  welcome  guest  ;  and — stay — 
add,  that  if  to  while  an  hour  or  so  in  gentle  pastime  be  accept- 
able to  him,  Walter  de  Montreal  would  rejoice  to  break  a  lance 
with  him,  or  any  knight  in  his  train,  in  honor  of  our  respective 
iadies.     Hie  thee  quick  ! 

*'  Walter,  Walter,"  began  Adeline,  who  had  that  keen  and 
delicate  sensitiveness  to  her  situation  which  her  reckless  lord 
often  wantonly  forgot  ;  "  Walter,  dear  Walter,  canst  thou  think 
it  honor  to — " 

"Hush  thee,  sweet  Fleur  de  lis!  Thou  hast  not  seen  pas- 
time this  many  a  day  ;  I  long  to  convince  thee  that  thou  art 
still  the  fairest  lady  in  Italy — ay,  and  of  Christendom.  But 
these  Italians  are  craven  knights,  and  thou  needest  not  fear 
that  my  proffer  will  be  accepted.  But  in  truth, lady  mine,I  rejoice 
for  graver  objects,  that  chance  throws  a  Roman  noble,  perhaps 
^.  Colonna,  in  my  way  ;  women  understand  not  these  matters  ; 
ind  aught  concerning  Rome  touches  us  home  at  this  moment." 

With  that  the  knight  frowned,  as  was  his  wont  in  thought, 
ind  Adeline  ventured  to  say  no  more,  but  retired  to  the  interior 
division  of  the  pavilion. 

Meanwhile  the  'squire  approached  the  procession  that  had 
now  reached  the  middle  of  the  pass :  and  a  stately  and  gallant 
company  it  was.  If  the  complete  harness  of  the  soldiery 
seemed  to  attest  a  warlike  purpose,  it  vv^as  contradicted  on  the 
other  hand  by  a  numerous  train  of  unarmed  'squires  and  pages 
gorgeously  attired,  while  the  splendid  blazon  of  two  heralds 
preceding  the  standard-bearers  proclaimed  their  object  as 
peaceful,  and  their  path  as  sacred.     It  required  but  a  glance  ai 


"ihe  company  to  tell  the  leader.  Arrayed  in  a  breastplate  ot 
steel,  wrought  profusely  with  gold  arabesques,  over  which  was 
a  mantle  of  dark-green  velvet,  bordered  with  pearls,  while  above 
his  long  dark  locks  waved  a  black  ostrich  plume  in  a  high 
Macedonian  cap,  such  as,  I  believe,  is  now  worn  by  the  Grand 
Master  of  the  order  of  St.  Constantine,  rode  in  the  front  of  the 
party  a  young  cavalier,  distiriguished  from  his  immediate  com- 
rades,  partly  by  his  graceful  presence  and  partly  by  his  splendid 
dress. 

The  'squire approached  respectfully,  and,  dismounting,  deliv- 
ered himself  of  his  charge. 

The  young  cavalier  smiled,  as  he  answered,  "  Bear  back  to 
Sir  Walter  de  Montreal  the  greeting  of  Adrian  Colonna,  Baron 
di  Castello,  and  say,  that  the  solemn  object  of  my  present  journey 
will  scarce  permit  me  to  encounter  the  formidable  lance  of  so  cele- 
brated a  knight  ;  and  I  regret  this  the  more,  inasmuch  as  I  may 
not  yield  to  any  'iame  the  palm  of  my  liege  lady's  beauty.  I 
must  live  in  hope  o^  a  happier  occasion.  For  the  rest,  I  will 
cheerfully  abide  for  some  few  hours  the  guest  of  so  courteous  a 
host." 

The  'squire  bowed  low.  "My  master,"  said  he  hesitatingly, 
**will  grieve  much  to  miss  so  noble  an  opponent.  But  my  mes- 
sage refers  to  all  this  knightly  and  gallant  train  ;  and  if  the 
Lord  Adrian  di  Castello  deems  himself  forbidden  the  joust  by 
the  object  of  his  present  journey,  surely  one  of  his  comrades 
will  be  his  proxy  with  my  master." 

Out  and  quickly  spoke  a  young  noble  by  the  side  of  Adrian, 
Riccardo  Annibaldi,  who  afterwards  did  good  service  both  to 
the  Tribune  and  to  Rome,  and  whose  valor  brought  him,  in 
later  life,  to  an  untimely  end. 

"  By  the  Lord  Adrian's  permission,"  cried  he,  "  I  will  break 
a  lance  with — " 

"Hush.  Annibaldi!"  interrupted  Adrian.  "And  you.  Sir 
'Squire,  know,  that  Adrian  di  Castello  permits  no  proxy  in  arms. 
Avise  the  Knight  of  St.  John  that  we  accept  his  hospitality,  ana 
if,  after  some  converse  on  graver  matters,  he  should  still  desire 
so  light  an  entertainment,  1  will  forget  that  I  am  the  ambassa- 
dor to  Naples,  and  remember  only  that  I  am  a  Knight  of  the 
Empire.     You  have  your  answer." 

The  'squire  with  much  ceremony  made  his  obeisance,  -*e- 
mounted  his  steed,  and  returned  in  a  half-gallop  to  his  master. 

"Forgive  me,  dear  Annibaldi,"  said  Adrian,  "that  I  balked 
your  valor  :  and  believe  me  that  I  never  more  longed  to  break  a 
lance  against  any  man  than  I  do  against  this  boasting  French- 


THE   LAST    OF   THE    TRIBUNES.  I57 

man.  But  bethink  you,  that  though  to  us,  brought  up  in  the 
dainty  laws  of  chivalry,  Walter  de  Montreal  is  the  famous 
Knight  of  Provence,  to  the  Tribune  of  Rome,  whose  grave 
mission  we  now  fulfill,  he  is  but  the  mercenary  captain  of  a  Free 
Company.  Grievously  in  his  eyes  should  we  sully  our  dignity 
by  so  wanton  and  irrelevant  a  holiday  conflict  with  a  declared 
and  professional  brigand." 

*'  For  all  that,"  said  Annibaldi,  "  the  brigand  ought  not  to 
boast  that  a  Roman  knight  shunned  a  Provencal  lance." 

"  Cease,  I  pray  thee  !  "  said  Adrian  impatiently.  In  fact, 
the  young  Colonna  already  chafed  bitterly  against  his  discreet 
and  dignified  rejection  of  Montreal's  proffer,  and  recollecting 
with  much  pique  the  disparaging  manner  in  which  the  Proven- 
gal  had  spoken  of  the  Roman  chivalry,  as  well  as  a  certain  tone 
of  superiority,  which  in  all  warlike  matters  Montreal  had  as- 
sumed over  him,  he  now  felt  his  cheek  burn,  and  his  lip  quiver. 
Highly  skilled  in  the  martial  accomplishments  of  his  time,  he 
had  a  natural  and  excusable  desire  to  prove  that  he  was  at 
least  no  unworthy  antagonist  even  of  the  best  lance  in  Italy; 
and,  added  to  this,  the  gallantry  of  the  age  made  him  feel  it  a 
sort  of  treason  to  his  mistress  to  forego  any  means  of  asserting 
her  perfections. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  considerable  irritation  that  Adrian,  as 
the  pavilion  of  Montreal  became  visible,  perceived  the  'squire 
returning  to  him.  And  the  reader  will  judge  how  much  this 
was  increased  when  the  latter,  once  more  dismounting,  accosted 
him  thus  : 

"  My  master,  the  Knight  of  St.  John,  on  hearing  the  courte- 
ous answer  of  the  Lord  Adrian  di  Castello,  bids  me  say  that 
lest  the  graver  converse  the  Lord  Adrian  refers  to  should 
mar  gentle  and  friendly  sport,  he  ventures  respectfully  to  sug- 
gest that  the  tilt  should  preface  the  converse.  The  sod  before 
the  tent  is  so  soft  and  smooth,  that  even  a  fall  could  be 
attended  with  no  danger  to  knight  or  steed." 

"  By  our  Lady  !  "  cried  Adrian  and  Annibaldi  in  a  breath, 
"  but  thy  last  words  are  discourteous  ;  and  "  (proceeded  Adrian, 
recovering  himself)  "  since  thy  master  will  have  it  so,  let  him 
look  to  his  horse's  girths.     I  will  not  gainsay  his  fancy." 

Montreal,  who  had  thus  insisted  upon  the  exhibition,  partly, 
it  may  be,  from  the  gay  and  ruffling  bravado  common  still 
amongst  his  brave  countrymen  ;  partly  because  he  was  curious 
of  exhibiting  before  those  who  might  soon  be  his  open  foes  his 
Singular  and  unrivalled  addri^oS  in  arms,  was  yet  more  moved 
le  il  on  learning  the  n9.m6  of  the  leader  of  the  Koman  Com^ 


158  RIENZI, 

pany  ;  for  his  vain  and  haughty  spirit,  however  it  had  disguised 
resentment  at  the  time,  had  by  no  means  forgiven  certain  warm 
expressions  of  Adrian  in  the  palace  of  Stephen  Colonna,  and 
in  the  unfortunate  journey  to  Corneto.  While  Adrian,  halting 
at  the  entrance  of  the  defile,  aided  by  his  'squires,  indignantly, 
but  carefully,  indued  the  rest  of  his  armor,  and  saw,  himself^ 
to  the  girths,  stirrup-leathers,  and  various  buckles  in  the  capar- 
ison of  his  noble  charger,  Montreal  in  great  glee  kissed  his  Indy, 
who,  though  too  soft  to  be  angry,  was  deeply  vexed  (and  yet 
her  vexation  half  forgotten  in  fear  for  his  safety),  snatclied  up 
her  scarf  of  blue,  which  he  threw  over  his  breastplate,  and  com- 
pleted his  array  with  the  indifference  of  a  man  certain  of 
victory.  He  was  destined,  however,  to  one  disadvantage,  and 
that  the  greatest ;  his  armor  and  lance  had  been  brought  from 
the  castle — not  his  warhorse.  His  palfrey  was  too  slight  to 
bear  the  great  weight  of  his  armor,  nor  amongst  his  troop  was 
there  one  horse  that  for  power  and  bone  could  match  with 
Adrian's.  He  chose,  however,  the  strongest  that  was  at  hand, 
and  a  loud  shout  from  his  wild  followers  testified  their  admira- 
tion when  he  sprung  unaided  from  the  ground  into  the  saddle — ■ 
a  rare  and  difficult  feat  01  agility  in  a  man  completely  arrayed  in 
the  ponderous  armor  which  issued  at  that  day  from  the  forges  of 
Milan,  and  was  worn  far  more  weighty  in  Italy  than  any  other 
part  of  Europe.  While  both  companies  grouped  slowly  and 
mingled  in  a  kind  of  circle  round  the  green  turf,  and  the 
Roman  heralds,  with  bustling  importance,  attempted  to  marshal 
the  spectators  into  order,  Montreal  rode  his  charger  round  the 
sward,  forcing  it  into  various  caracoles,  and  exhibiting,  with 
the  vanity  that  belonged  to  him,  his  exquisite  and  practised 
horsemanship. 

At  length,  Adrian,  his  visor  down,  rode  slowly  into  the  green 
space,  amidst  the  cheers  of  his  party.  The  two  knights,  at 
either  end,  gravely  fronted  each  other  ;  they  made  the  courtesies 
with  their  lances,  which,  in  friendly  and  sportive  encounters, 
were  customary ;  and,  as  they  thus  paused  for  the  signal  of  en- 
counter, the  Italians  trembled  for  the  honor  of  their  chief  ; 
Montreal's  stately  height  and  g'rth  of  chest  forming  a  strong 
contrast,  even  in  armor,  to  the  form  of  his  opponent,  which  was 
rather  under  the  middle  standard,  and,  though  firmly  knit, 
slightly  and  slenderly  buijt.  But  to  that  perfection  was  skill  in 
arms  brought  in  those  times,  that  great  strength  and  size  were 
far  from  being  either  the  absolute  requisites,  or  even  the  usual 
attributes,  of  the  more  celebrated  knights;  in  fact,  so  much 
Was  effected  by  the  power  and  the  management  of  the  steed|» 


THfi   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  1^0 

that  a  light  weight  in  the  rider  was  often  rather  to  his  advan- 
tage than  his  prejudice :  and,  even  at  a  later  period,  the  most 
accomplished  victors  in  the  tourney,  the  French  Bayard  and 
the  English  Sydney,  were  far  from  remarkable  either  for  bulk 
or  stature. 

Whatever  the  superiority  of  Montreal  in  physical  power,  was, 
in  much,  counterbalanced  by  the  inferiority  of  his  horse,  which, 
Ihough  a  thick-built  and  strong  Calabrian,  had  neither  the 
')lood,  bone,  nor  practised  discipline  of  the  northern  charger 
of  the  Roman.  The  shining  coat  of  the  latter,  coal  black,  was 
set  off  by  a  scarlet  cloth  wrought  in  gold  ;  the  neck  and  shoul- 
ders were  clad  in  scales  of  mail  ;  and  from  the  forehead  pro- 
jected a  long  point,  like  the  horn  of  an  unicorn,  while  on  its 
crest  waved  a  tall  plume  of  scarlet  and  white  feaihers.  As  the 
mission  of  Adrian  to  Naples  was  that  of  pomp  and  ceremony 
to  a  court  of  great  splendor,  so  his  array  and  retinue  were  be- 
fitting the  occasion  and  the  passion  for  show  that  belonged  to 
the  time  ;  and  the  very  bridle  of  his  horse,  which  was  three 
inches  broad,  was  decorated  with  gold,  and  even  jewels.  I'he 
knight  himself  was  clad  in  mail  which  had  tested  the  finest  art 
of  the  celebrated  Ludovico  of  Milan  ;  and,  altogether,  his  ap- 
pearance was  unusually  gallant  and  splendid,  and  seemed  still 
more  so  beside  the  plain  but  brightly  polished  and  artfully 
flexible  armor  of  Montreal  (adorned  only  with  his  lady's  scarf) 
and  the  common  and  rude  mail  of  his  charger.  This  contrast, 
however,  was  not  welcome  to  the  Proven9al,  whose  vanity  was 
especially  indulged  in  warlike  equipments ;  and  who,  had  he 
foreseen  the  *'  pastime  "  that  awaited  him,  would  have  outshone 
^ven  the  Colonna. 

The  trumpeters  of  eitherparty  gave  a  short  blast ;  the  knights 
remained  erect  as  statues  of  iron  ;  a  second,  and  each  slightly 
bent  over  his  saddle-bow  ;  a  third,  and  with  spears  couched, 
L:lackened  reins,  and  at  full  speed,  on  they  rushed,  and  fiercely 
they  met  midway.  With  the  reckless  arrogance  which  belonged 
to  him  Montreal  had  imagined  that  at  the  first  touch  of  his 
lance  Adrian  would  have  been  unhorsed  ;  but  to  his  great  sur- 
prise the  young  Roman  remained  firm,  and,  amidst  the  shouts 
of  his  party,  passed  on  to  the  other  end  of  the  lists.  Montreal 
himself  was  rudely  shaken,  but  lost  neither  seat  nor  stirrup. 

"  This  can  be  no  carpet  knight,"  muttered  Montreal  between 
his  teeth,  as,  this  time,  he  summoned  all  his  skill  for  a  second 
encounter  ;  while  Adrian,  aware  of  the  great  superiority  of  his 
charger,  resolved  to  bring  it  to  bear  against  his  opponent.  Ac 
cordmgly,   when  the  knights  again  rushed  forward,   Adriai^ 


iffO  RIEN2I, 

covering  himself  well  with  his  buckler,  directed  his  care  less 
against  the  combatant,  whom  he  felt  no  lance  wielded  by  mor- 
tal hand  was  likely  to  dislodge,  than  against  the  less  noble  ani- 
mal he  bestrode.  The  shock  of  Montreal's  charge  was;  "ike  an 
avalanche;  his  lance  shivered  into  a  thousand  pieces,  Ar5:7an 
lost  both  stirrups,  and  but  for  the  strong  iron  bows  wluch 
guarded  the  saddle  in  front  and  rear,  would  have  been  fairly 
unhorsed  ;  as  it  was,  he  was  almost  doubled  back  by  the  en- 
counter, and  his  ears  rung  and  his  eyes  reeled,  so  tliat  for  a 
moment  or  two  he  almost  lost  all  consciousness.  But  his  steed 
had  well  repaid  its  nurture  and  discipline.  Just  as  the  com- 
batants closed,  the  animal,  rearing  on  high,  pressed  forwarc 
with  its  mighty  crest  against  its  opponent  with  a  force  so  irre- 
sistible as  to  drive  back  Montreal's  horse  several  paces  ;  while 
Adrian's  lance,  poised  with  exquisite  skill,  striking  against  the 
Proven9ars  helmet,  somewhat  rudely  diverted  the  knight's  at- 
tention for  the  moment  from  his  rein.  Montreal,  drawing  the 
curb  too  tightly  in  the  suddenness  of  his  recovery,  the  horse 
reared  on  end  ;  and  receiving  at  that  instant,  full  upon  his 
breast-plate,  the  sharp  horn  and  mailed  crest  of  Adrian's 
charger,  fell  back  over  its  rider  upon  the  sward.  Montreal  dis- 
encumbered himself  in  great  rage  and  shame,  as  a  faint  cry 
from  his  pavilion  reached  his  ear,  and  redoubled  his  mo-tifica- 
tion.  He  rose  with  a  lightness  which  astonished  the  b^iholders  ; 
for  so  heavy  was  the  armor  worn  at  that  day,  that  few  knights 
once  stretched  upon  the  ground  could  rise  without  assistance  ; 
and,  drawing  his  sword,  cried  out  fiercly  :  *'  On  foo?:,  o»>  foot ! 
the  fall  was  not  mine,  but  this  accursed  beast's,  that  T  must 
needs  for  my  sins   raise   to  the  rank  of  a  charger.     Come  on." 

"  Nay,  Sir  Knight,"  said  Adrian,  drawing  off  his  gauntlets 
and  unbuckling  his  helmet,  which  he  threw  on  the  ground,  "  I 
come  to  thee  a  guest  and  a  friend  ;  but  to  fight  on  foot  is  the 
encounter  of  mortal  foes.  Did  I  accept  thy  offer,  my  defeat 
would  but  stain  thy  knighthood.'* 

Montreal,  whose  passion  had  beguiled  him  for  the  moment, 
sullenly  acquiesced  in  this  reasoning.  Adrian  hastened  to 
soothe  his  antagonist.  "For  the  rest,"  said  he,  "  I  cannot  pre- 
tend to  the  prize.  Your  lance  lost  me  my  stirrups  ;  mine  left 
you  unshaken.  You  say  right  ;  the  defeat,  if  any,  was  that  of 
your  steed." 

*'  We  may  meet  again  when  I  am  more  equally  horsed,"  said 
Montreal,  still  chafing. 

**  Now,  our  Lady  forbid  !  "  exclaimed  Adrian,  with  so  devout 
Gn  earnestness  that  the  bystanders  could  not  refrain  from  laugh* 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES*  l6l 

ing  ;  and  even  Montreal  grimly  and  half-reluctantly  joined  in 
the  merriment.  The  courtesy  of  his  foe,  however,  conciliated 
and  touched  the  more  frank  and  soldierly  qualities  of  his 
nature,  and  composing  himself,  he  replied  : 

"Signordi  Castello,  I  rest  your  debtor  for  a  courtesy  that  I 
have  but  little  imitated.  Howbeit,  if  thou  wouldst  bind  me  to 
thee  forever,  thou  wilt  suffer  me  to  send  for  my  own  charger, 
and  afford  me  a  chance  to  retrieve  mine  honor.  With  that  steed, 
or  with  one  equal  to  thine,  which  seems  to  me  of  the  English 
breed,  I  will  gage  all  I  possess,  lands,  castle,  and  gold,  sword 
and  spurs,  to  maintain  this  pass,  one  by  one,  against  all  thy 
train." 

Fortunately,  perhaps,  for  Adrian,  ere  he  could  reply,  Riccardo 
Annibaldi  cried  with  great  warmth  :  "  Sir  Knights,  I  have  with 
me  two  steeds  well  practised  in  the  tourney  ;  take  thy  choice 
and  accept  in  me  a  champion  of  the  Roman  against  the  French 
chivalry  ;  there  is  my  gage." 

**Signor,"  replied  Montreal,  with  ill-suppressed  delight, 
**  thy  proffer  shows  so  gallant  and  free  a  spirit,  that  it  were  foul 
sin  in  me  to  balk  it.  I  accept  thy  gage,  and  whichever  of 
thy  steeds  thou  rejectest,  in  God's  name  bring  it  hither,  and 
let  us  waste  no  words  before  action." 

Adrian,  who  felt  that  hitherto  the  Romans  had  been  more 
favored  by  fortune  than  merit,  vainly  endeavored  to  prevent 
this  second  hazard.  But  Annibaldi  was  greatly  chafed,  and 
his  high  rank  rendered  it  impolitic  in  Adrian  to  offend  him  by 
peremptory  prohibition  :  the  Colonna  reluctantly,  therefore, 
yielded  his  assent  to  the  engagement.  Annibaldi's  steeds 
were  led  to  the  spot,  the  one  a  noble  roan,  the  other  a  bay,  of 
somewhat  less  breeding  and  bone,  but  still  of  great  strength 
and  price.  Montreal,  finding  the  choice  pressed  upon  him, 
gallantly  selected  the  latter  and  less  excellent. 

Annibaldi  was  soon  arrayed  for  the  encounter,  and  Adrian 
gave  the  word  to  the  trumpeters.  The  Roman  was  of  a  stat- 
ure almost  equal  to  that  of  Montreal,  and  though  some 
years  younger,  seemed,  in  his  armor,  nearly  of  the  same  thews 
and  girth,  so  that  the  present  antagonists  appeared  at  the  first 
glance  more  evenly  matched  than  the  last.  But  this  time  Mon- 
treal, well  horsed,  inspired  to  the  utmost  by  shame  and  pride, 
felt  himself  a  match  for  an  army  ;  and  he  met  the  young 
Baron  with  such  prowess  that,  while  the  very  plume  on  his 
casque  seemed  scarcely  stirred,  the  Italian  was  thrown  several 
paces  from  his  steed,  and  it  was  not  till  some  moments  after 
bis  visor  was  removed  by  his  'squires  that  he  recovered  his 


l62  RiENZI, 

senses.  This  event  restored  Montreal  to  all  his  natural  gayety 
of  humor,  and  effectually  raised  the  spirits  of  his  followers,  who 
Lad  felt  much  humbled  by  the  previous  encounter. 

He  himself  assisted  Annibaldi  to  rise  with  great  courtesy, 
and  a  profusion  of  compliments,  which  the  proud  Roman  took 
in  stern  silence,  and  then  led  the  way  to  the  pavilion,  loudly 
ordering  the  banquet  to  be  spread.  Annibaldi,  however, 
loitered  behind,  and  Adrian,  who  penetrated  his  thoughts,  and 
who  saw  that  over  their  cups  a  quarrel  between  the  Provengal 
and  his  friend  was  likely  to  ensue,  drawing  him  aside  said 
"  Methinks,  dear  Annibaldi,  it  would  be  better  if  you,  with  the 
chief  of  our  following,  were  to  proceed  onward  to  Fondi, 
where  I  will  join  you  at  sunset.  My  'squires,  and  some  eight 
lances,  will  suffice  for  my  safeguard  here  ;  and,  to  say  truth, 
I  desire  a  few  private  words  with  our  strange  host,  in  the  hope 
that  he  may  be  peaceably  induced  to  withdraw  from  hence 
without  the  help  of  our  Roman  troops,  who  have  enough  else- 
where to  feed  their  valor." 

Annibaldi  pressed  his  companion's  hand:  "I  understand 
thee,"  he  replied  with  a  slight  blush,  "and,  indeed,  I  could  but 
ill  brook  the  complacent  triumph  of  the  barbarian.  I  accept 
thy  offer." 


CHAPTER  III. 

rHE  CONVERSATION    BETWEEN    THE    ROMAN    AND  THE  PROVEN- 
CAL.— Adeline's  history. — the  moonlit  sea. — the  i  ute 

AND  the  song. 

As  soon  as  Annibaldi,  with  the  greater  part  of  the  retinue, 
was  gone,  Adrian,  divesting  himself  of  his  heavy  greaves,  en- 
tered alone  the  pavilion  of  the  Knight  of  St.  John.  Montreal 
had  already  doffed  all  his  armor,  save  the  breastplate,  and  he 
now  stepped  forward  to  welcome  his  guest  with  the  winning 
and  easy  grace  which  better  suited  his  birth  than  his  profes- 
sion. He  received  Adrian's  excuses  for  the  absence  of  Anni- 
baldi and  the  other  knights  of  his  train  with  a  smile  that 
seemed  to  prove  how  readily  he  divined  the  cause,  and  con- 
ducted him  to  the  other  and  more  private  division  of  the  pa- 
vilion in  which  the  repast  (rendered  acceptable  by  the  late  ex- 
ercise of  the  guest  and  host)  was  prepared  ;  and  here  Adrian 
for  the  first  time  discovered  Adeline.  Long  inurement  to  the 
various  and  roving  life  of  her  lover,  joined  to  a  certain  pride 


THE    LAST    Of    THE   TRIBUNES.  163 

^hich  she  derived  from  conscious,  though  forfeited,  rank,  gave 
to  the  outward  manner  of  that  beautiful  lady  an  ease  and 
freedom  which  often  concealed,  e^^en  from  Montreal,  her  sensi- 
tiveness to  her  unhappy  situation.  At  times,  indeed,  when 
alone  with  Montreal,  whom  she  loved  with  all  the  devotion  of 
romance,  she  was  sensible  only  to  the  charm  of  a  presence 
./hich  consoled  her  for  all  things  ;  but  in  his  frequent  absence, 
or  on  the  admission  of  any  stranger,  the  illusion  vanished — the 
reality  returned.  Poor  lady  !  Nature  had  not  formed,  educa- 
tion had  not  reared,  habit  had  not  reconciled,  her  to  the  breath 
of  shame ! 

The  young  Colonna  was  much  struck  by  her  beauty,  and 
more  by  her  gentle  and  high-born  grace.  Like  her  lord  she 
appeared  younger  than  she  was  ;  time  seemed  to  spare  a  bloom 
which  an  experienced  eye  might  have  told  was  destined  to  an 
early  grave ;  and  there  was  something  almost  girlish  in  the 
lightness  of  her  form,  the  braided  luxuriance  of  her  rich  au- 
burn hair,  and  the  color  that  went  and  came,  not  only  w'th 
every  moment,  but  almost  with  every  word.  The  contrast  be- 
tween her  and  Montreal  became  them  both — it  was  the  contrast 
of  devoted  reliance  and  protecting  strength  :  each  looked  fairer 
in  the  presence  of  the  other  :  and  as  Adrian  sate  down  to 
the  well-laden  board,  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  a 
pair  more  formed  for  the  poet  legends  of  their  native  Trouba- 
dours. 

Montreal  conversed  gayly  upon  a  thousand  matters — pressed 
the  wine  flasks,  and  selected  for  his  guest  the  most  delicate 
portions  of  the  delicious  spicola  of  the  neighboring  sea,  and  the 
rich  flesh  of  the  wild  boar  of  the  Pontine  Marshes. 

*'  Tell  me,"  said  Montreal,  as  their  hunger  was  now  appeased, 
'  tell  me,  noble  Adrian,  how  fares  your  kinsman,  Signor 
Stephen  ?     A  brave  old  man  for  his  years." 

"  He  bears  him  as  the  youngest  of  us,"  answered  Adrian. 

"  Late  events  must  have  shocked  him  a  little,"  said  Mon- 
wi'eal,  with  an  arch  smile.  "  Ah,  you  look  grave — yet  commend 
my  foresight ,  I  was  the  first  who  prophesied  to  thy  kinsman 
the  rise  of  Cola  di  Rienzi ;  he  seems  a  great  man  ;  never  more 
great  than  in  conciliating  the  Colonna  and  the  Orsini." 

"  The  Tribune,"  returned  Adrian  evasively,  "  is  certainly  a 
man  of  extraordinary  genius.  And  now,  seeing  him  command, 
my  only  wonder  is  how  he  ever  brooked  to  obey  ;  majesty 
seems  a  very  part  of  him." 

"  Men  who  win  power  easily  put  on  its  harness,  dignity,"  an- 
swered Monueai ;  "  and  if  I  hear  aright — (pledge  me  to  your 


164  RIENZI, 

lady's  health) — the  Tribune,  if  not  himself  nobly  born,  will 
soon  be  nobly  connected." 

"  He  is  already  married  to  a  Raselli,  an  old  Roman  house," 
replied  Adrian. 

"  You  evade  my  pursuit, — Le  doiilx  soupir  !  le  doulx  soupir  !  as 
the  old  Cabestan  has  it,"  said  Montreal,  laughing.  *'  Well,  you 
have  pledged  me  one  cup  to  your  lady,  pledge  another  to 
the  fair  Irene,  the  Tribune's  sister,  always  pi  Dvided  they  tv/oare 
not  one.     You  smile  and  shake  your  head." 

*' I  do  not  disguise  from  you.  Sir  Knight,"  answered 
Adrian,  "that  when  my  present  embassy  is  over,  I  trust  the 
alliance  between  the  Tribune  and  a  Colonna  will  go  far  to- 
wards the  benefit  of  both." 

"  I  have  heard  rightly  then,"  said  Montreal,  in  a  grave  and 
thoughtful  tone.     "  Rienzi's  power  must,  indeed,  be  great." 

"Of  that  my  mission  is  a  proof.  Are  you  aware,  Signor  de 
Montreal,  that  Louis,  King  of  Hungary — " 

"How!  what  of  him?" 

^*  Has  referred  the  decision  of  the  feud  between  himself  and 
Joanna,  of  Naples,  respecting  the  death  of  her  royal  spouse,  his 
brother,  to  the  fiat  of  the  Tribune  ?  This  is  the  first  time,  me- 
thinks,  since  the  death  of  Constantine,  that  so  great  a  confi- 
dence and  so  high  a  charge  were  ever  intrusted  to  a  Roman  !  " 

"By  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar  !  "  cried  Montreal, crossing 
himself,  "  this  news  is  indeed  amazing  !  The  fierce  Louis  of 
Hungary  waive  the  right  of  the  sword,  and  choose  other  umpire 
than  the  field  of  battle  !".... 

"And  this,"  continued  Adrian,  in  a  significant  tone,  "this  it 
was  which  induced  me  to  obey  your  courteous  summons.  I 
know,  brave  Montreal,  that  you  hold  intercourse  with  Louis. 
Louis  has  given  to  the  Tribune  the  best  pledge  of  his  amity 
and  alliance  ;  will  you  do  wisely  if  you — " 

"Wage  war  with  the  Hungarian's  ally,"  interrupted  Mon- 
treal. "  This  you  were  about  to  add  ;  the  same  thought  crossed 
myself.  My  lord,  pardon  me — Italians  sometime,  'nvent  what 
they  wish.  On  the  honor  of  a  Knight  of  the  Empire,  these 
tidings  are  the  naked  truth  ?" 

"  By  my  honor,  and  on  the  Cross,"  answered  Adrian,  draw- 
"ng  himself  up  ;  "  and  in  proof  thereof,  I  am  now  bound  to 
Naples,  to  settle  with  the  Queen  the  preliminaries  of  the  ap" 
pointed  trial." 

"  Two  crowned  heads  before  the  tribunal  of  a  plebeian,  anC 
one  a  defendant  against  the  charge  of  murtherS"  muttered 
MoQUeal »  "  the  news  might  well  amaze  me  ! " 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  ifij 

He  remained  musing  and  silent  a  little  while,  till  looking  up, 
lie  caught  Adeline's  tender  gaze  fixed  upon  liim  with  that 
deep  solicitude  with  which  she  watched  the  outward  effect  of 
schemes  and  projects  she  was  too  soft  to  desire  to  know,  and 
too  innocent  to  share. 

"  Lady  mine,"  said  the  Proven9al  fondly,  "how  sayst  thou  ? 
must  we  abandon  our  mountain  castle,  and  these  wild  wood- 
land scenes,  for  the  dull  walls  of  a  city  ?  I  fear  me  so.  The 
I.ady  Adeline,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Adrian,  "is  of  a  sin- 
gular bias ;  she  hates  the  gay  crowds  of  streets  and  thorough- 
fares, and  esteems  no  palace  like  the  solitary  outlaw's  hold. 
Yet,  methinks,  she  might  outshine  all  the  faces  of  Italy, — thy 
mistress.  Lord  Adrian,  of  course  excepted." 

"  It  is  an  exception  which  only  a  lover,  and  that  too  a  be 
trothed  lover,  would  dare  to  make,"  replied  Adrian  gallantly. 

"  Nay,"  said  Adeline,  in  a  voice  singularly  sweet  and  clear, 
"nay,  I  know  well  at  what  price  to  value  my  lord's  flattery,  and 
Signor  di  Castello's  courtesy.  But  you  are  bound.  Sir  Knight, 
to  a  court,  that,  if  fame  speak  true,  boasts  in  its  Queen  the 
very  miracle  and  mould  of  beauty." 

"  It  is  some  years  since  I  saw  the  Queen  of  Naples,"  an- 
swered Adrian  ;  "  and  I  little  dreamed  then,  when  I  gazed  upon 
that  angel  face,  that  I  should  live  to  hear  her  accused  of  the 
foulest  murther  that  ever  stained  even  Italian  royalty." 

"And,  as  if  resolved  to  prove  her  guilt,"  said  Montreal,  "ere 
long  be  sure  she  will  marry  the  very  man  who  did  the  deed. 
Of  this  I  have  certain  proof." 

Thus  conversing,  the  knights  wore  away  the  daylight,  and 
beheld  from  tl.e  open  tent  the  sun  cast  his  setting  glow  over 
the  purple  sea.  Adeline  had  long  retired  from  the  board,  and 
they  now  saw  her  seated  with  her  handmaids  on  a  mound  by 
the  beach,  while  the  sound  of  her  lute  faintly  reached  their 
ears.  As  Montreal  caught  the  air,  he  turned  from  the  converse, 
and  sighing,  half  shaded  his  face  with  his  hand.  Somehow  o 
other  the  two  knights  had  worn  a\yay  all  the  little  jealousy  oi 
pique  which  they  had  conceived  against  each  other  at  Rome. 
Both  imbued  with  the  soldier-like  spirit  of  the  age,  their  con- 
test in  the  morning  had  served  to  inspire  them  with  that  strange 
kind  of  respect,  and  even  cordiality,  which  one  brave  man  even 
still  (how  much  more  at  that  day  !)  feels  for  another,  whose 
courage  he  has  proved  while  vindicating  his  own.  It  is  like 
the  discovery  of  a  congenial  sentiment  hitherto  latent  ;  and,  in 
a  life  of  camps,  often  establishes  sudden  and  lasting  friendship 
in  the  very  lap  of  enmity.     This  feeling   had   been  ripened  by 


l66  RIENZI, 

their  subsequent  familiar  intercourse,  and  was  increased  on 
Adrian's  side  by  the  feeling  that,  in  convincing  Montreal  o( 
the  policy  of  withdrawing  from  the  Roman  territories,  he  had 
obtained  an  advantage  that  well  repaid  whatever  danger  and 
delay  he  had  undergone. 

The  sigh  and  the  altered  manner  of  Montreal  did  not  escape 
Adrian,  and  he  naturally  connected  it  with  something  relating 
to  her  whose  music  had  been  its  evident  cause. 

"  Yon  lovely  dame,"  said  he  gently,  "  touches  the  lute  with 
an  exquisite  and  fairy  hand,  and  that  plaintive  air  seems  to  my 
ear  as  of  the  minstrelsy  of  Provence." 

"  It  is  the  air  1  taught  her,"  said  Montreal  sadly,  "  married 
as  it  is  to  indifferent  words,  with  which  I  first  wooed  a  heart 
that  should  never  have  given  itself  to  me  !  Ay,  young  Colonna, 
many  a  night  has  my  boat  been  moored  beneath  the  starlit 
Sorgia  that  washes  her  proud  father's  halls,  and  my  voice 
awaked  the  stillness  of  the  waving  sedges  with  a  soldier's  sere- 
nade.    Sweet  memories  !  bitter  fruit!" 

"Why  bitter  !  ye  love  each  other  still." 

"But  I  am  vowed  to  celibacy,  and  Adeline  de  Cour^ 
val  is  leman  where  she  should  be  wedded  dame.  Me- 
thinks  I  fret  at  the  thought  even  more  than  she — dear 
Adeline  ! " 

"  Your  lady,  as  all  would  guess,  is  then  nobly  born  ?  " 

"  She  is,"  answered  Montreal,  with  a  deep  and  evident  feel- 
ing which,  save  in  love,  rarely,  if  ever,  crossed  his  hardy  breast. 
"  She  is  !  our  tale  is  a  brief  one  :  We  loved  each  other  as 
children.  Her  family  was  wealthier  than  mine  :  we  were  sep- 
arated. I  was  given  to  understand  that  she  abandoned  me.  I 
despaired,  and  in  despair  I  took  the  cross  of  St,  John.  Chance 
threw  us  again  together.  I  learned  that  her  love  was  unde- 
cayed.  Poor  child!  she  was  even  then,  sir,  but  a  child  !  I,  wild, 
reckless,  and  not  unskilled,  perhaps,  in  the  arts  that  woo  and 
win.  She  could  not  resist  my  suit  or  her  own  affection  !  We 
fled.  In  those  words  you  see  the  thread  of  my  after-history. 
My  sword  and  my  Adeline  were  all  my  fortune.  Society 
frowned  on  us.  The  Church  threatened  my  soul.  The  Grand 
Master  my  life.  I  became  a  knight  of  fortune.  Fate  and  my 
right  hand  favored  me.  1  have  made  those  who  scorned  me 
tremble  at  my  name.  That  name  shall  yet  blaze,  a  star  or  a 
meteor,  in  the  front  of  troubled  nations,  and  I  may  yet  win  by 
force  from  the  Pontiff  the  dispensation  refused  to  my  prayers. 
On  the  same  day,  I  may  offer  Adeline  the  diadem  and  the 
ring.     Eno'  of  this  ;  you  marked  Adeline's  cheek  .'     Seems  it 


THE    LAST    OF    THE     TRIBUNES.  167 

not  delicate  ?     I  like  not  that  changeful  flush,  and  she  moves 
languidly,  her  step  that  was  so  blithe  ! " 

*'  Change  of  scene  and  the  mild  south  will  soon  restore  her* 
health,"  said  Adrian  :  "  and  in  your  peculiar  life  she  is  so  little 
brought  into  contact  with  others,  especially  of  her  own  sex, 
that  I  trust  she  is  but  seldom  made  aware  of  whatever  is  pain- 
ful in  her  own  situation.  And  woman's  love,  Montreal,  as  we 
both  have  learned,  is  a  robe  that  wraps  her  from  many  a 
storm." 

"  You  speak  kindly,"  returned  the  knight  ;  "  but  you  know 
not  all  our  cause  of  grief.  Adeline's  father,  a  proud  sieur, 
died — they  said  of  a  broken  heart — but  old  men  die  of  many 
another  disease  than  that  !  The  mother,  a  dame  who  boasted 
her  descent  from  princes,  bore  the  matter  more  sternly  than 
the  sire  ;  clamored  for  revenge — which  was  odd,  for  she  is  as 
religious  as  a  Dominican,  and  revenge  is  not  Christian  in  a 
woman,  though  it  is  knightly  in  a  man  !  Well,  my  lord,  we 
had  one  boy,  our  only  child  ;  he  was  Adeline's  solace  in  my 
absence  ;  his  pretty  ways  were  worth  the  world  to  her  !  She 
loved  him  so,  that  but  he  had  her  eyes  and  looked  like 
her  when  he  slept,  I  should  have  been  jealous  !  He  grew  up  in 
our  wild  life,  strong  and  comely  ;  the  young  rogue,  he  would 
have  been  a  brave  knight  !  My  evil  star  led  me  to  Milan, 
where  I  had  business  with  the  Visconti.  One  bright  morning 
in  June  our  boy  was  stolen  ;  verily  that  June  was  like  a  De- 
cember to  us  !  " 

*'  Stolen  ? — how  ? — by  whom  ?  ** 

"  The  first  question  is  answered  easily  :  the  boy  was  with  his 
nurse  in  the  courtyard,  the  idle  wench  left  him  for  but  a  min- 
ute or  two — so  she  avers — to  fetch  him  some  childish  toy : 
when  she  returned  he  was  gone  ;  not  a  trace  left,  save  his 
pretty  cap  with  the  plume  in  it  !  Poor  Adeline,  many  a  time 
have  I  found  her  kissing  that  relic  till  it  was  wet  with  tears  !  " 

"  A  strange  fortune,  in  truth.     But  what  interest  could — " 

''I  will  tell  you,"  interrupted  Montreal,  "  the  only  conjecture 
I  could  form  :  Adeline's  mother,  on  learning  that  we  had  a 
son,  sent  to  Adeline  a  letter  that  well-nigh  broke  her  heart,  re- 
proaching her  for  her  love  to  me,  and  so  forth,  as  if  that  had 
made  her  the  vilest  of  the  sex.  She  bade  her  take  compassion 
on  her  child,  and  not  bring  him  up  to  a  robber's  life, — so  was 
she  pleased  to  style  the  bold  career  of  Walter  de  Montreal. 
She  offered  to  rear  the  child  \w  her  own  dull  halls,  and  fit  him, 
no  doubt,  for  a  shaven  pate  and  a  monk's  cowl.  She  chafed 
much  that  a  mother  would  not  part  with  her  treasure  !     Sh? 


I68  RIENZI, 

alone,  partly  in  revenge,  partly  in  silly  compassion  for  Adeline's 
child,  partly,  it  may  be,  from  some  pious  fanaticism,  could,  it 
so  seemed  to  me,  have  robbed  us  of  our  boy.  On  inquiry,  I 
learned  from  the  nurse — who,  but  that  she  was  of  the  same  sex 
as  Adeline,  should  have  tasted  my  dagger, — that  in  their  walks, 
a  woman  of  advanced  years,  but  seemingly  humble  rank  (that 
might  be  disguise  !)  had  often  stopped  and  caressed  and  ad- 
mired the  child.  I  repaired  at  once  to  France,  sought  the  old 
Castle  of  De  Courval ;  it  had  passed  to  the  next  heir,  and  the 
old  widow  was  gone,  none  knew  whither,  but,  it  was  conjec- 
tured, to  take  the  veil  in  some  remote  convent." 

"  And  you  never  saw  her  since  ?  " 

"  Yes,  at  Rome,"  answered  Montreal,  turning  pale  ;  "  when 
last  there  I  chanced  suddenly  upon  her;  and  then  at 
length  I  learned  my  boy's  fate,  and  the  truth  of  my  own 
surmise ;  she  confessed  to  the  theft,  and  my  child  was 
dead  !  I  have  not  dared  to  tell  Adeline  of  this  ;  it  seems  to 
me  as  if  it  would  be  like  plucking  the  shaft  from  the  wounded 
side — and  she  would  die  at  once,  bereft  of  the  uncertainty  that 
rankles  within  her.  She  has  still  a  hope — it  comforts  her ; 
though  my  heart  bleeds  when  I  think  on  its  vanity.  Let  this 
pass,  my  Colonna." 

And  Montreal  started  to  his  feet,  as  if  he  strove,  by  a  strong 
effort,  to  shake  off  the  weakness  that  had  crept  over  him  in  his 
narration. 

'*  Think  no  more  of  it.  Life  is  short — its  thorns  are  many — let 
us  not  neglect  any  of  its  flowers.  This  is  piety  and  wisdom 
too ;  Nature,  that  meant  me  to  struggle  and  to  toil,  gave  me, 
happily,  the  sanguine  heart  and  the  elastic  soul  of  France ; 
and  I  have  lived  long  enough  to  own  that  to  die  young  is  not 
an  evil.  Come,  Lord  Adrian,  let  us  join  my  lady  ere  you  part, 
if  part  you  must ;  the  moon  will  be  up  soon,  and  Fondi  is  but  a 
short  journey  hence.  You  know  that  though  I  admire  not  your 
Petrarch,  you  with  more  courtesy  laud  our  Provengal  ballads, 
and  you  must  hear  Adeline  sing  one  that  you  may  prize  them 
the  more.  The  race  of  the  Troubadours  is  dead,  but  the  min- 
strelsy survives  the  minstrel !  " 

Adrian,  who  scarce  knew  what  comfort  to  administer  to  the 
affliction  of  his  companion,  was  somewhat  relieved  by  the 
change  in  his  mood,  though  his  more  grave  and  sensitive  nature 
was  a  little  startled  at  its  suddenness.  But,  as  we  have  before 
seen,  Montreal's  spirit  (and  this  made  perhaps  its  fascination) 
was  as  a  varying  and  changeful  sky  ;  the  gayest  sunshine  aad 
^he  fiercest  storm  swept  over  it  in  rapid  alternation ;  and  ek" 


THE   LAST   OF  THE   TRIBUNE^  169 

ments  of  singular  might  and  grandeur,  which,  properly  di- 
rected and  concentrated,  would  have  made  him  the  blessing 
and  glory  of  his  time,  were  wielded  with  a  boyish  levity^  roused 
into  war  and  desolation,  or  lulled  into  repose  and  smoothness, 
with  all  the  suddenness  of  chance,  and  all  the  ^ckleness  of 
caprice. 

Sauntering  down  to  the  beach,  the  music  of  Adeline's  lute 
sounded  more  distinctly  in  their  ears,  and  involuntarily  they 
hushed  their  steps  upon  the  rich  and  odorous  turf,  as  in  a 
voice,  though  not  powerful,  marvellously  sweet  and  clear,  and 
well  adapted  to  the  simple  fashion  of  the  words  and  melody, 
ihe  sang  the  following  stanzas: 

LAY  OF  THE  LADY  OF   PROVENCE. 
I. 

Ah,  why  art  thou  sad,  my  heart  ?    Why 

Darksome  and  lonely  ? 
Frowns  the  face  of  the  happy  sky 
Over  thee  only  ? 

Ah  me,  ah  me  i 
Render  to  joy  the  earth  ! 
Grief  shuns,  not  envies,  mirth  ; 
But  leave  one  quiet  spot, 
"Where  mirth  may  enter  not. 
To  sigh,  Ah  me  ! — 
Ah  me  I 

II. 
As  a  bird,  though  the  sky  be  clear. 

Feels  the  storm  lower  ; 
My  soul  bodes  the  tempest  near 
In  the  sunny  hour  ; 

Ah  me,  ah  me  I 
Be  glad  while  yet  we  may  ! 
I  bid  thee,  my  heart,  be  gay  ^ 
And  still  I  know  not  why,— 
Thou  answerest  with  a  sigh 
(Fond  heart  !)  Ah  me  ! 
Ah  me  ! 

III. 
As  this  twilight  o'er  the  skies. 

Doubt  brings  the  sorrow  ; 
Who  knows  when  the  daylight  dies. 
What  waits  the  morrow  ? 

Ah  me,  ah  me  ! 
Be  blithe,  be  blithe,  my  lute, 
Thy  strings  will  soon  be  mute  5 
Be  blithe — hark  !  while  it  dies. 
The  note  forewarning,  sighs 
Its  last — Ah  me  ! 

Ah  me  J 


1 70  RIENZI, 

"  My  own  Adeline,  my  sweetest  night-bird,"  half -whispered 
Montreal,  and  softly  approaching,  he  threw  himself  at  his  lady's 
feet  ;  ''  thy  song  is  too  sad  for  this  golden  eve." 

"  No  sound  ever  went  to  the  heart,"  said  Adrian,  "whose 
arrow  was  not  feathered  by  sadness.  True  sentiment,  Montreal, 
'5  twin  with  melancholy,  though  not  with  gloom." 

The  lady  looked  softly  and  approvingly  up  at  Adrian's  face  ; 
she  was  pleased  with  its  expression  ;  she  was  pleased  yet  more 
with  words  of  which  women  rather  than  men  would  acknowl- 
edge the  truth.  Adrian  returned  the  look  with  one  of  deep  and 
eloquent  sympathy  and  respect  ;  in  fact,  the  short  story  he  had 
]ieard  from  Montreal  had  interested  him  deeply  in  her  ;  and 
never  to  the  brilliant  queen,  to  whose  court  he  was  bound,  did 
his  manner  wear  so  chivalric  and  earnest  a  homage  as  it  did  to 
that  lone  and  ill-fated  lady  on  the  twilight  shores  of  Terra- 
cina. 

Adeline  blushed  slightly  and  sighed  ;  and  then,  to  break 
the  awkwardness  of  a  pause  which  had  stolen  over  them, 
as  Montreal,  unheeding  the  last  remark  of  Adrian,  was 
tuning  the  strings  of  the  lute,  she  said:  "Of  course  the 
Signor  di  Castello  shares  the  universal  enthusiasm  for 
Petrarch  ? " 

"Ay,"  cried  Montreal;  "my  lady  is  Petrarch  mad,  like 
the  rest  of  them  :  but  all  I  know  is,  that  never  did  belted 
knight  and  honest  lover  woo  in  such  fantastic  and  tortured 
strains." 

"  In  Italy,"  answered  Adrian,  "common  language  is  exag- 
geration ;  but  even  your  own  Troubadour  poetry  might  tell  you 
that  love,  ever  seeking  a  new  language  of  its  own,  cannot  but 
often  run  into  what  to  all  but  lovers  seems  distortion  and 
ronceit." 

"  Come,  dear  signor,"  said  Montreal,  placing  the  lute  in 
Adrian's  hands,  "  let  Adeline  be  the  umpire  between  us,  which 
music — yours  or  mine — can  woo  the  more  blandly." 

"  Ah,"  said  Adrian,  laughing  ;  I  fear  me.  Sir  Knight,  you  have 
already  bribed  the  umpire." 

Montreal's  eyes  and  Adeline's  met,  and  in  that  gaze  Adeline 
forgot  all  her  sorrows. 

With  a  practised  and  skilful  hand  Adrian  touched  the 
strings ;  and  selecting  a  song  which  was  less  elaborate  than 
those  mostly  in  vogue  amongst  his  countrymen,  though  still 
conceived  in  the  Italian  spirit,  and  in  accordance  with  the  sen- 
timent he  had  previously  expressed  to  Adeline,  h^  sang  as 
follows ; 


THE  LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  Bjt 

LOVE'S  EXCUSE  FOR  SADNESS. 

Chide  not,  beloved,  if  oft  with  thee 

I  feel  not  rapture  wholly  ; 
For  aye  the  heart  that's  fill'd  with  love. 

Runs  o'er  in  melancholy. 
To  streams  that  glide  in  noon,  the  shade 

From  summer  skies  is  given  ; 
So,  if  my  breast  reflects  the  cloud, 

'Tis  but  the  cloud  of  heaven  ! 
Thine  image  glass'd  within  my  soul. 

So  well  the  mirror  keepeth  ; 
That,  chide  me  not,  if  with  the  /tg^f 

The  shadow  also  sleepeth. 

"And  now,"  said  Adrian,  as  he  concluded,  "the  lute  is  iter 
you  ;  I  but  prelude  your  prize." 

The  Provencal  laughed,  and  shook  his  head.  *'  With  any 
other  umpire,  I  had  had  my  lute  broken  on  my  own  head,  for 
my  conceit  in  provoking  such  a  rival  ;  but  I  must  not  shrink 
from  a  contest  I  have  myself  provoked,  even  though  in  one  day 
/z«//V^ defeated."  And  with  that,  in  a  deep  and  exquisitely  melo- 
dious voice,  which  wanted  only  mere  scientific  culture  to  have 
challenged  any  competition,  the  Knight  of  St.  John  poured  forth 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  TROUBADOUR. 

I. 

Gentle  river,  the  moonbeam  is  hush'd  on  thy  tide. 
On  thy  pathway  of  light  to  my  lady  I  glide. 
My  boat,  where  the  stream  leaves  the  castle,  I  moor-* 
All  at  rest  save  the  maid  and  her  young  Troubadour  I  . 
As  the  stars  to  the  waters  that  bore 

My  bark,  to  my  spirit  thou  art  ; 
Heaving  yet,  see  it  bound  to  the  shore. 
So  moor'd  to  thy  beauty  my  heart — 
BeV  amie,  beV  amie,  beV  amie  / 

II. 
Wilt  thou  fly  from  the  world  ?     It  hath  wealth  for  the  vain  j 
But  Love  breaks  his  bond  when  there's  gold  in  the  chain  ; 
"Wilt  thou  fly  from  the  world  ?     It  hath  courts  for  the  proud  '»-**• 
But  Love,  born  in  caves,  pines  to  death  in  the  crowd. 
Were  this  bosom  thy  world,  dearest  one, 
Thy  world  could  not  fail  to  be  bright ; 
For  thou  shouldst  thyself  be  its  sun, 

And  what  spot  could  be  dim  in  thy  light— 
BeP  amie,  beV  amie*  bel'  amie? 

III. 
The  rich  and  the  great  woo  thee  dearest  ;  and  poor, 
Though  his  fathers  were  princes,  thy  young  TroubadoMrl 
But  his  heart  never  quail'd  save  to  thee,  his  adored — 


172  RIENZI, 

There's  no  guile  in  his  lute,  and  no  stain  on  his  SWOld. 
Ah,  I  reck  not  what  sorrows  I  know, 
Could  I  still  on  thy  solace  confide  ; 
And  I  care  not,  though  earth  be  my  foe, 
If  thy  soft  heart  be  found  by  my  side,— 
Bel  amie,  bel'  amie,  beV  amie  ! 

IV. 

The  maiden  she  blush'd,  and  the  maiden  she  sighed. 
Not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  not  a  gale  on  the  tide ; 
But  though  tempest  had  raged  on  the  wave  and  the  wiftd* 
That  castle,  meihinks,  had  been  still  left  behind  ! 
Sweet  lily,  though  bow'd  by  the  blast, 

(To  this  bosom  transplanted)  since  then. 
Wouldst  thou  change,  could  we  call  up  the  past. 
To  the  rock  from  thy  garden  again  — 
BeV  amie,  beP  amie,  beV  amie  ? 

Thus  they  alternated  the  time  with  converse  and  song,  as  the 
wooded  hills  threw  their  sharp,  long  shadows  over  the  sea  ; 
while  from  many  a  mound  of  waking  flowers,  and  many  a  copse 
of  citron  and  orange,  relieved  by  the  dark  and  solemn  aloe, 
stole  the  summer  breeze,  laden  with  mingled  odors  ;  and  over 
the  seas,  colored  by  the  slow-fading  hues  of  purple  and  rose, 
that  the  sun  had  long  bequeathed  to  the  twilight,  flitted  the  gay 
fireflies  that  sparkle  along  the  enchanted  coast.  At  length  the 
moon  slowly  rose  above  the  dark  forest-steeps,  gleaming  on  the 
gay  pavilion  and  glittering  pennon  of  Montreal  ;  on  the  verdant 
sward,  the  polished  mail  of  the  soldiers,  stretched  on  the  grass 
in  various  groups,  half-shaded  by  oaks  and  Cyprus,  and  the 
war-steeds  grazing  peaceably  together — a  wild  mixture  of  the 
Pastoral  and  the  Iron  time. 

Adrian,  reluctantly  reminded  of  his  journey,  rose  to  depart. 

"  I  fear,"  said  he  to  Adeline,  ''that  I  have  already  detained 
you  too  late  in  the  night  air  ;  but  selfishness  is  little  con- 
sid'^rate.  '* 

"  Nay,  you  see  we  are  prudent,"  said  Adeline,  pointing  to 
Montreal's  mantle,  which  his  provident  hand  had  long  since 
drawn  around  her  form  ;  "but  if  we  must  part,  farewell,  and 
success  attend  you  !" 

"We  may  meet  again,  I  trust,"  said  Adrian. 

Adeline  sighed  gently  ;  and  the  Colonna,  gazing  on  her  face 
by  the  moonlight,  to  which  it  was  slightly  raised,  was  painfully 
struck  by  its  almost  transparent  delicacy.  Moved  by  his  compas- 
sion, ere  he  mounted  his  steed,  he  drew  Montreal  aside.  "  For- 
give me  if  I  seem  presumptuous,"  said  he,  "  but  to  one  so  noble 
this  wild  life  is  scarce  a  fitting  career.  I  know  that,  in  our 
tiQ>e,  War  consecrates  all  his  children  ;  but  surely  a  settled  rank 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    TRIBUNES.  I73 

in  the  court  of  the  Emperor,  or  an  honorable  reconcili:^  "" 
with  your  knightly  brethren,  were  better — " 

"Than  a  Tartar  camp,  and  a  brigand's  castle,"  interrupiea 
Montreal,  with  some  impatience.  "This  you  were  about  to 
say — you  are  mistaken.  Society  thrust  me  from  her  bosom  ; 
let  society  take  the  fruit  it  hath  sown.  *  A  fixed  rank,'  say  you  ? 
some  subaltern  office,  to  fight  at  other  men's  command  !  You 
know  me  not :  Walter  de  Montreal  was  not  formed  to  obey. 
War  when  I  will,  and  rest  when  I  list,  is  the  motto  of  my  es- 
cutcheon. Ambition  proffers  me  rewards  you  wot  not  of ;  and 
I  am  of  the  mould,  as  of  the  race,  of  those  whose  swords  have 
conquered  thrones.  For  the  rest,  your  news  of  the  alliance 
of  Louis  of  Hungary  with  your  Tribune  makes  it  necessary 
for  the  friend  of  Louis  to  withdraw  from  all  feud  with  Rome. 
Ere  the  week  expire  the  owl  and  the  bat  may  seek  refuge  in 
yon  gray  turrets." 

"But  your  lady?" 

"  Is  inured  to  change.  God  help  her,  and  temper  the  rough 
wind  to  the  lamb  !  " 

"Enough,  Sir  Knight:  but  should  you  desire  a  sure  refuge 
at  Rome  for  one  so  gentle  and  so  highborn,  by  the  right  hand 
of  a  knight,  I  promise  a  safe  roof  and  an  honored  home  to 
the  Lady  Adeline." 

Montreal  pressed  the  offered  hand  to  his  heart ;  then  pluck- 
ing his  own  hastily  away,  drew  it  across  his  eyes,  and  joined 
Adeline,  in  a  silence  that  showed  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to 
speak.  In  a  few  moments  Adrian  and  his  train  were  on  the 
march ;  but  still  the  young  Colonna  turned  back,  to  gaze  once 
more  on  his  wild  host  and  that  lovely  lady,  as  they  themselves 
lingered  on  the  moonlit  sward,  while  the  sea  rippled  mournfully 
on  their  ears. 

It  was  not  many  months  after  that  date  that  the  name  of 
Frf^  Moreale  scattered  terror  and  dismay  througliout  the  fair 
Campania.  The  right  hand  of  the  Hungarian  king,  in  his 
invasion  of  Naples,  he  was  chosen  afterwards  vicar  (or  vice- 
gerent) of  Louis  in  Aversa  ;  and  fame  and  fate  seemed  to  lead 
him  triumphantly  along  that  ambitious  career  which  he  had 
elj^cteciy  whether  bounded  by  the  scaffold  or  the  throne. 


274  RIENZI, 

BOOK  IV. 

THE  TRIUMPH  AND  THE  POMP. 

•*AlIora  fama  e  paura  disi  buono reggimento,  passa  in  ogni  terra.."— -Vita 
H  Cola  di  Rienzi,  lib.  i.  cap.  21. 

"  Then  the  fame  and  fear  of  that  so  good  government  passed  into  every 
rud, — Life  of  Cola  di  Rienzi, 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE  DOY   ANGELO — THE  DREAM   OF    NINA    FULFILLED. 

The  thread  of  my  story  transports  us  back  to  Rome.  It 
was  in  a  small  chamber,  in  a  ruinous  mansion  by  the  base  of 
Mount  Aventine,  that  a  young  boy  sate,  one  evening,  with  a 
woman  of  a  tall  and  stately  form,  but  somewhat  bowed  both 
by  infirmity  and  years.  The  boy  was  of  a  fair  and  comely 
presence  ;  and  there  was  that  in  his  bold,  frank,  undaunted 
carriage,  which  made  him  appear  older  than  he  was. 

The  old  woman,  seated  m  the  recess  of  the  deep  window, 
was  apparently  occupied  with  a  Bible  that  lay  open  on  her 
knees ;  but  ever  and  anon  she  lifted  her  eyes,  and  gazed  on 
her  young  companion  with  a  sad  and  anxious  expression. 

"  Dame,"  said  the  boy,  who  was  busily  employed  in  hewing 
out  a  sword  of  wood,  *'  I  would  you  had  seen  the  show  to-day. 
Why,  every  day  is  a  show  at  Rome  now  !  It  is  show  enough 
to  see  the  Tribune  himself  on  his  white  steed — (oh,  it  is  so 
beautiful !) — with  his  white  robes  all  studded  with  jewels.  But 
to-day,  as  I  have  just  been  telling  you,  the  Lady  Nina  took 
lotice  of  me,  as  I  stood  on  the  stairs  of  the  Capitol :  you 
know,  dame,  I  had  donned  my  best  blue  velvet  doublet." 

"And  she  called  you  a  fair  boy,  and  asked  if  you  would  be 
her  little  page ;  and  this  has  turned  thy  brain,  silly  urchin 
that  thou  art — " 

*'  But  the  words  are  the  least :  if  you  saw  the  Lady  Nina, 
you  would  own  that  a  smile  from  her  might  turn  the  wisest 
head  in  Italy.  Oh,  how  I  should  like  to  serve  the  Tribune! 
All  the  lads  of  my  age  are  mad  for  him.  How  they  will  stare, 
and  envy  me  at  school  to-morrow !  You  know  too,  dame, 
that  though  I  was  not  always  brought  up  at  Rome,  I  am 
Kom^io.     £very  Rom  ah  loves  Rienzi," 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  I75 

"Ay,  for  the  hour:  the  cry  will  soon  change.  This  Viinity 
of  thine,  Angelo,  vexes  my  old  heart.  I  would  thou  wert 
humbler." 

*' Bastards  have  their  own  name  to  win,"  said  the  boy,  color- 
ing deeply.  "  They  twit  me  in  the  teeth,  because  I  cannot  say 
who  my  father  and  mother  were." 

"They  need  not,"  returned  the  dame  hastily.  "Thou 
comest  of  noble  blood  and  long  descent,  though,  as  I  have 
told  thee  often,  I  know  not  the  exact  names  of  thy  parents. 
But  what  art  thou  shaping  that  tough  sapling  of  oak  into  ?" 

"A  sword,  dame,  to  assist  the  Tribune  against  the  robbers.  * 

"  Alas  !  I  fear  me,  like  all  those  who  seek  power  in  Italy,  he 
is  more  likely  to  enlist  robbers  than  to  assail  them." 

"  Why,  la,  you  there,  you  live  so  shut  up,  that  you  know  and 
hear  nothing,  or  you  would  have  learned  that  even  that  fiercest 
of  all  the  robbers,  Fra  Moreale,  has  at  length  yielded  to  the 
Tribune,  and  fled  from  his  castle,  like  a  rat  from  a  falling 
house." 

"How,  how  !"  cried  the  dame  ;  "what  say  you?  Hats  this 
plebeian,  whom  you  call  the  Tribune,  has  he  boldly  thrown 
the  gage  to  that  dread  warrior  ?  and  has  Montreal  left  the 
Roman  territory  ?  " 

"  Ay,  it  is  the  talk  of  the  town.  But  Fra  Moreale  seems  a& 
much  a  bugbear  to  you  as  to  e'er  a  mother  in  Rome.  Did  hfc 
ever  wrong  you,  dame?" 

"  Yes  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  with  so  abrupt  a  fierce- 
ness that  even  that  hardy  boy  was  startled. 

"  I  wish  I  could  meet  him,  then,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  as 
he  flourished  his  mimic  weapon. 

"  Now  Heaven  forbid  !  He  is  a  man  ever  to  be  shunned  by 
thee,  whether  for  peace  or  war.  Say  again  this  good  Tribune 
holds  no  terms  with  the  Free  Lances." 

"  Say  it  again — why,  all  Rome  knows  it." 

"  He  is  pious,  too,  I  have  heard  ;  and  they  do  bruit  it  that 
he  sees  visions,  and  is  comforted  from  above,"  said  the  woman, 
speaking  to  herself.  Then  turning  to  Angelo,  she  continued  : 
"  Thou  wouldst  like  greatly  to  accept  the  Lady  Nina's  proffer  ?  " 

"Ah,  that  I  should,  dame,  if  you  could  spare  me." 

"Child,"  replied  the  matron  solemnly,  "  my  sand  is  nearly 
run,  and  my  wish  is  to  see  thee  placed  with  one  who  will  nur- 
ture thy  young  years,  and  save  thee  from  a  life  of  license. 
That  done,  I  may  fulfil  my  vow,  and  devote  the  desolate  rem* 
nant  of  my  years  to  God.  I  will  think  more  of  this,  my  child. 
Not  under  such  a  plebeian's  roof  shouldst  thou  have  lodged, 


17^  RIENff, 

nor  from  a  stranger's  board  been  fed  ;  but  at  Rome,  my  last  rela« 
live  worthy  of  the  trust  is  dead;  and  at  the  worst,  obscure  hon- 
esty is  belter  than  gaudy  crime.  Thy  spirit  troubles  me  already. 
Back,  my  ciiild  ;  I  must  to  my  closet,  and  watch  and  pray." 

Thus  saying,  the  old  woman,  repelling   the  advance,  and  si 
Iencin<jr   the   muttered  and  contused   words,  of  the   boy — ha^-- 
affectionate  as  tiiey  were,  yet  half  tetchy  and  wayward — glidea 
from  the  chnmber. 

The  boy  looked  abstractedly  at  the  closing  door,  and  tiie: 
said  to  himself:  *'The  dame  is  always  talking  riddles :  ^ 
wonder  if  she  know  more  of  me  than  she  tells,  or  if  she  is  any 
way  akin  to  me.  1  hope  not,  for  I  don't  love  her  much;  nor, 
for  that  matter,  anything  else.  I  wish  she  would  place  me 
with  the  Tribune's  lady,  and  then  we'll  see  wiio  among  the 
lads  will  call  Angelo  Villani  bastard." 

With  that  the  boy  fell  to  work  again  at  his  sword  with  re- 
doubled vigor.  In  fact,  the  cold  manner  of  this  female,  his 
sole  nurse,  companion,  substitute  for  parent,  had  repelled  his 
affections  without  subduing  his  temper ;  and  though  not 
originally  of  evil  disposition,  Angelo  Villani  was  already  inso- 
lent, cunning,  and  revengeful  ;  but  not,  on  the  other  hand, 
without  a  quick  susceptibility  to  kindness  as  to  affront,  a  natu- 
ral acuteness  of  understanding,  and  a  great  indifference  to 
fear.  Brought  up  in  quiet  af^nence  rather  than  luxury,  and 
living  much  with  his  protector,  whom  he  knew  but  by  the  name 
of  Ursula,  his  bearing  was  graceful,  and  his  air  that  of  the 
well-born.  And  it  was  his  carriage,  perhaps,  rather  than  his 
countenance,  which,  though  handsome,  was  more  distinguished 
lor  intelligence  than  beauty,  which  had  attracted  the  notice  of 
ihe  Tribune's  bride.  His  education  was  that  of  one  reared 
26r  some  scholastic  profession.  He  was  not  only  taught  to 
read  and  write,  but  had  been  even  instructed  in  the  rudiments 
cf  Latin.  He  did  not,  however,  incline  to  these  studies  half  so 
londly  as  to  the  games  of  his  companions,  or  the  shows  or 
riots  in  the  street,  into  all  of  which  he  managed  to  thrust  him- 
self, and  from  which  he  had  always  the  happy  dexterity  to 
return  safe  and  unscathed. 

The  next  morning  Ursula  entered  the  young  Angelo's 
chamber.  "  Wear  again  thy  blue  doublet  to-day,"  said  she ; 
**  I  would  have  thee  look  thy  best.  Thou  shalt  go  with  me  to 
the  palace." 

"What,  to-day?"  cried  the  boy  joyfully,  half  leaping  from 
his  bed.  "  Dear  dame  Ursula,  shall  I  really  then  belong  to  the 
train  of  the  great  Tribune's  lady  ? " 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  I77 

*'Yes;  and  leave  the  old  woman  to  die  alone  !  Your  joy 
becomes  you, — but  ingratitude  is  in  your  blood.  Ingratitude  ! 
Oh,  it  has  burned  my  heart  into  ashes  ;  and  yours,  boy,  can  no 
longer  find  a  fuel  in  the  dry  crumbling  cinders." 

*'  Dear  dame,  you  are  always  so  biting.  You  know  you  said 
you  wished  to  retire  into  a  convent,  and  I  was  too  troublesome 
a  charge  for  you.  But  you  delight  in  rebuking  me,  justly  or 
unjustly." 

"  My  task  is  over,"  said  Ursula,  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh. 

The  boy  answered  not ;  and  the  old  woman  retired  with  a 
heavy  step,  and,  it  may  be,  a  heavier  heart.  When  he  joined 
her  in  their  common  apartment,  he  observed  what  his  joy  had 
previously  blinded  him  to,  that  Ursula  did  not  wear  her  usual 
plain  and  sober  dress.  The  gold  chain,  rarely  assumed  then 
by  women  not  of  noble  birth,  though,  in  the  other  sex,  affected 
also  by  public  functionaries  and  wealthy  merchants,  glittered 
upon  a  robe  of  the  rich  flowered  stuffs  of  Venice,  and  the  clasps 
that  confined  the  vest  at  the  throat  and  waist  were  adorned 
with  jewels  of  no  common  price. 

Angelo's  eye  was  struck  by  the  change,  but  he  felt  a  more 
manly  pride  in  remarking  that  the  old  lady  became  it  well. 
Her  air  and  mien  were  indeed  those  of  one  to  whom  such  gar- 
ments were  habitual  ;  and  they  seemed  that  day  more  than 
usually  austere  and  stately. 

She  smoothed  the  boy's  ringlets,  drew  his  short  mantle  more 
gracefully  over  his  shoulder,  and  then  placed  in  his  belt  a  pon- 
iard whose  handle  was  richly  studded,  and  a  purse  well  filled 
with  florins. 

"  Learn  to  use  both  discreetly,"  said  she  ;  "  and,  whether  I 
live  or  die,  you  will  never  require  to  wield  the  poniard  to  pro- 
cure the  gold." 

"  This  then,"  cried  Angelo,  enchanted,  **is  a  real  poniard  to 
f:ght  the  robbers  with  !  Ah,  with  this  I  should  not  fear  Fra 
Moreale,  who  wronged  thee  so.  I  trust  I  may  yet  avenge  thee, 
though  thou  didst  rate  me  so  just  now  for  ingratitude." 

**  I  af?i  avenged.  Nourish  not  such  thoughts,  my  son,  they 
are  sinful  ;  at  least  I  fear  so.  Draw  to  the  board  and  eat ;  we 
will  go  betimes,  as  petitioners  should  do." 

Angelo  had  soon  finished  his  morning  meal,  and  sallying  with 
Ursula  to  the  porch,  he  saw,  to  his  surprise,  four  of  those 
servitors  who  then  usually  attended  persons  of  distinc- 
tion, and  who  were  to  be  hired  in  every  city,  for  the  con- 
venience of  strangers  or  the  holyday  ostentation  of  the  gayei 
citizens. 


jyS  RIENZI, 

**  How  grand  we  are  to-day  !  "  said  he,  clapping  his  hands 
ivith  an  eagerness  which  Ursula  failed  not  to  reprove. 

"  It  is  not  for  vain  show,"  she  added,  *'  which  true  nobility 
can  well  dispense  with,  but  that  we  may  the  more  readily  gain 
admittance  to  the  palace.  These  princes  of  yesterday  are  not 
*5asy  of  audience  to  the  over  humble." 

"  Oh,  but  you  are  wrong  this  time,"  said  the  boy.  "  The 
Tribune  gives  audience  to  all  men,  the  poorest  as  the  richest. 
Nay,  there  is  not  a  ragged  boor,  or  a  barefooted  friar,  who 
does  not  win  access  to  him  sooner  than  the  proudest  baron. 
That's  why  the  people  love  him  so.  And  he  devotes  one  day 
of  the  week  to  receiving  the  widows  and  the  orphans  ;  and  you 
know,  dame,  I  am  an  orphan." 

Ursula,  already  occupied  with  her  own  thoughts,  did  not 
answer^  and  scarcely  heard  the  boy  ;  but  leaning  on  his  young 
arm,  and  preceded  by  the  footmen  to  clear  the  way,  passed 
slowly  towards  the  palace  of  the  Capitol. 

A  wonderful  thing  would  it  have  been  to  a  more  observant 
eye  to  note  the  change  which  two  or  three  short  months  of  the 
stern  but  salutary  and  wise  rule  of  the  Tribune  had  effected  in 
the  streets  of  Rome.  You  no  longer  beheld  the  gaunt  and 
mail-clad  forms  of  foreign  mercenaries  stalking  through  the 
vistas,  or  grouped  in  lazy  insolence  before  the  embattled 
porches  of  some  gloomy  palace.  The  shops,  that  in  many 
quarters  had  been  closed  for  years,  were  again  open,  glittering 
with  wares  and  bustling  with  trade.  The  thoroughfares, 
formerly  either  silent  as  death,  or  crossed  by  some  affrighted 
and  solitary  passenger  with  quick  steps,  and  eyes  that  searched 
every  corner,  or  resounding  with  the  roar  of  a  pauper  rabble, 
or  the  open  feuds  of  savage  nobles,  now  exhibited  the  regular, 
and  wholesome,  and  mingled  streams  of  civilized  life,  whether 
bound  to  pleasure  or  to  commerce.  Carts  and  wagons  laden 
with  goods  which  had  passed  in  safety  by  the  dismantled  holds 
of  the  robbers  of  the  Campagna,  rattled  cheerfully  over  the 
pathways.  *'  Never,  perhaps," — to  use  the  translation  adapted 
from  the  Italian  authorities,  by  a  modern  and  by  no  means  a 
partial  historian* — *'  Never,  perhaps,  has  the  energy  and  effect 
of  a  single  mind  been  more  remarkably  felt  than  in  the  sudden 
reformation  of  Rome  by  the  Tribune  Rienzi.  A  den  of  robbers 
was  converted  to  the  discipline  of  a  camp  or  convent.  *  In  this 
time,*  says  the  historian,!  'did  the  woods  begin  to  rejoice  that 
tJ7-ey  were  no  longer  infested  with  robbers ;  the  oxen  began  to 

*  Gibbon. 
*  Vita  di  Cola  di  Rienzi,  lib.  i.,  c.  g. 


The  last  of  the  tribunes.  579 

plough;  the  pilgrims  visited  the  sanctuaries;*  the  roads  and 
inns  were  replenished  with  travellers  ;  trade,  plenty,  and  good 
faith,  were  restored  in  the  markets  ;  and  a  purse  of  gold  might 
be  exposed  without  danger  in  the  midst  of  the  highways.*" 

Amidst  all  these  evidences  of  comfort  and  security  to  the 
])eople,  some  dark  and  discontented  countenances  might  be 
reen  mingled  in  the  crowd,  and  whenever  one  who  wore  the 
livery  of  the  Colonna  or  the  Orsini  felt  himself  jostled  by  the 
.nrong,  a  fierce  hand  moved  involuntarily  to  the  sword-belt, 
and  a  half-suppressed  oath  was  ended  with  an  indignant  sigh. 
Here  and  there  too, — contrasting  the  redecorated,  refurnished, 
and  smiling  shops — heaps  of  rubbish  before  the  gate  of  some 
haughty  mansion  testified  the  abasement  of  fortifications  which 
the  owner  impptently  resented  as  a  sacrilege.  Through  such 
streets  and  such  throngs  did  the  party  we  accompany  wend 
their  way,  till  they  found  themselves  amidst  crowds  assembled 
before  the  entrance  of  the  Capitol.  The  officers  there  stationed 
kept,  however,  so  discreet  and  dexterous  an  order,  that  they 
were  not  long  detained  ;  and  now  in  the  broad  place  or  court 
of  that  memorable  building,  they  saw  the  open  doors  of  the 
great  justice-hall,  guarded  but  by  a  single  sentinel,  and  in 
which,  for  six  hours  daily,  did  the  Tribune  hold  his  court,  for 
*' patient  to  hear,  swift  to  redress,  inexorable  to  punish,  his  tri- 
bunal was  always  accessible  to  the  poor  and  stranger."  f 

Not,  however,  to  that  hall  did  the  party  bend  its  way,  but  to 
Ihe  entrance  which  admitted  to  the  private  apartments  of  the 
palace.  And  here  the  pomp,  the  gaud,  the  more  than  regal 
magnificence,  of  the  residence  of  the  Tribune,  strongly  con- 
trasted the  patriarchal  simplicity  which  marked  his  justice 
court. 

Even  Ursula,  not  unaccustomed,  of  yore,  to  the  luxurious 
state  of  Italian  and  French  principalities,  seemed  roused  into 
surprise  at  the  hall  crowded  with  retainers  in  costly  liveries, 
the  marble  and  gilded  columns  wreathed  with  flowers,  and  the 
gorgeous  banners  wrought  with  the  blended  arms  of  the  Repub- 
lican City  and  the  Pontifical  See,  which  blazed  aloft  and 
around. 

Scarce  knowing  whom  to  address  in  such  an  assemblage, 
Ursula  was  relieved  from  her  perplexity  by  an  officer  attired  in 
a  suit  of  crimson  and  gold,  who,  with  a  grave  and  formal 
decorum,  which  indeed  reigned  throughout  the  whole  retinue, 

♦  Gibbon  :  %h^  "f^inis  fn  the  oriKtoi  a^  "  ti ptlUgrini  cemincitfr*  a  xft^  A?  crrn*  p^ 
4W  >K'i  Hf  IMiftyi* 


l8o  ftlENZI, 

demanded,  respectfully,  whom  she  sought  ?  "  The  Signora 
Nina  I "  replied  Ursula,  drawing  up  her  stately  person,  with  a 
natural,  though  somewhat  antiquated,  dignity.  There  was 
something  foreign  in  the  accent  which  influenced  the  officer's 
answer. 

"  To-day,  madam,  I  fear  that  the  Signora  receives  only  the 
Roman  ladies.  To  morrow  is  that  appointed  for  all  foreign 
dames  of  distinction." 

Ursula,  with  a  slight  impatience  of  tone,  replied  : 

"  My  business  is  of  that  nature  which  is  welcome  on  any  day, 
at  palaces.  I  come,  Signor,  to  lay  certain  presents  at  the 
Signora's  feet  which  I  trust  she  will  deign  to  accept." 

"  And  say,  Signor,"  added  the  boy  abruptly,  "  that  Angelo 
Villani,  whom  the  Lady  Nina  honored  yesterday  with  her 
notice,  is  no  stranger  but  a  Roman  ;  and  comes,  as  she  bade 
him,  to  proffer  to  the  Signora  his  homage  and  devotion." 

The  gi*ave  officer  could  not  refrain  a  smile  at  the  pert,  yet 
not  ungraceful,  boldness  of  the  boy. 

"  I  remember  me.  Master  Angelo  Villani,"  he  replied,  '*  that 
the  Lady  Nina  spoke  to  you  by  the  great  staircase.  Madam,  I 
will  do  your  errand.  Please  to  follow  me  to  an  apartment  more 
fitting  your  sex  and  seeming." 

With  that  the  officer  led  the  way  across  the  hall  to  a  broad 
staircase  of  white  marble,  along  the  centre  of  which  were  laid 
those  rich  Eastern  carpets  which,  at  that  day,  when  rushes 
strewed  the  chambers  of  an  English  monarch,  were  already 
common  to  the  greater  luxury  of  Italian  palaces.  Opening  a 
door  at  the  first  flight,  he  ushered  Ursula  and  her  young  charge 
into  a  lofty  ante-chamber,  hung  with  arras  of  wrought  velvets  ; 
while  over  the  opposite  door,  through  which  the  officer  now 
vanished,  were  blazoned  the  armorial  bearings  which  the  Trib- 
une so  constantly  introduced  in  all  his  pomp,  not  more  from 
the  love  of  show,  than  from  his  politic  desire  to  mingle  with 
the  keys  of  the  Pontiff  the  heraldic  insignia  of  the  Republic. 

"  Philip  of  Valois  is  not  housed  like  this  man  ! "  muttered 
Ursula.  ^'  If  this  last,  I  shall  have  done  better  for  my  charge 
than  I  recked  of." 

The  officer  soon  returned,  and  led  them  across  an  apartment 
of  vast  extent,  which  was  indeed  the  great  reception  chamber 
of  the  palace.  Four-and-twenty  columns  of  the  Oriental 
alabaster  which  had  attested  the  spoils  of  the  later  emperors, 
and  had  been' disinterred  from  forgotten  ruins,  to  grace  tlie 
palace  of  the  Reviver  of  the  old  Republic,  supported  the  light 
roof,  which,  half  Gothic,  half  classic,  in  its  architecture,  was 


fttE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES,  l8r 

inlaid  with  gilded  and  purple  mosaics.  The  tesselated  floor 
was  covered  in  the  centre  with  cloth  of  gold,  the  walls  were 
clothed,  at  intervals,  with  the  same  gorgeous  hangings,  relieved 
by  panels  freshly  painted  in  the  most  glowing  colors,  with 
mystic  and  symbolical  designs.  At  the  upper  end  of  this  royal 
chamber  two  steps  ascended  to  the  place  of  the  Tribune's  throne, 
above  which  was  the  canopy  wrought  with  the  eternal  armorial 
bearings  of  the  Pontiff  and  the  City. 

Traversing  this  apartment,  the  officer  opened  the  door  at  its 
extremity,  which  admitted  to  a  small  chamber,  crowded  with 
pages  in  rich  dresses  of  silver  and  blue  velvet.  There  were  few 
amongst  them  elder  than  Angelo  ;  and,  from  their  general 
beauty,  they  seemed  the  very  flower  and  blossom  of  the  city. 

Short  time  had  Angelo  to  gaze  on  his  comrades  that  were  to 
be ;  another  minute,  and  he  and  his  protectress  were  in  the 
presence  of  the  Tribune's  bride. 

The  chamber  was  not  large  ;  but  it  was  large  enough  to  prove 
that  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Raselli  had  realized  her  visions 
of  vanity  and  splendor. 

It  was  an  apartment  that  mocked  description  ;  it  seemed  a 
cabinet  for  the  gems  of  the  world.     The  daylight,  shaded  by 
high  and  deep-set  casements  of  stained  glass,  streamed  in  a 
purple  and  mellow  hue  over  all  that  the  art  of  that  day  boasted 
most  precious,  or  regal  luxury  held  most  dear.     The  candela- 
bras  of  the   silver  workmanship  of  Florence  ;  the  carpets  and 
stuffs  of  the  East ;  the  draperies  of  Venice  and  Genoa  ;  paint' 
ings  like  the  illuminated  missals,  wrought  in   gold,  and   those 
lost  colors  of  blue  and  crimson  ;  antique  marbles,  which  spoke 
of  the  bright  days  of   Athens  ;  tables  of  disinterred  mosaics, 
their  freshness  preserved  as  by   magic  ;  censers  of   gold   that 
steamed  with   the   odors   of  Araby,  yet   so  subdued  as  not  to 
Jeaden  the  healthier  scent  of  flowers,  which  blushed  in  every 
corner   from  their  marble   and   alabaster  vases  ;  a   small  and 
spirit-like  fountain,  which  seem.=id  to  gush  from  among  wreaths 
of  roses,  diffusing  in  its  diamond  and  fairy  spray  a  scarce  felt 
coolness  of  the  air — all  these,  and  such  as  these,  which  it  were 
vain   work   to   detail,  congregated  in    the   richest   luxuriance, 
harmonized  with  the  most  exquisite   taste,  uniting  the  ancient 
arts  with  the  modern,  amazed  and  intoxicated  the  sense  of  the 
beholder.     It   was   not  so  much   the  cost,  nor  the  luxury,  that 
made   the  character  of  the  chamber  ;  it  was  a  certain  gorgeous 
and   almost  sublime   phantasy,  so   that    it   seemed   rather   the 
fabled  retreat  of  an  enchantress,  at  whose  word  genii  ransacked 
the  earth,  and  fairies  arranged  the  produce,  than  the  grossel 


1^2  RlENZl, 

splendor  of  an  earthly  queen.     Behind  the  piled  cushions  upon 
which  Nina  half  reclined,  stood  four  girls,  beautiful  as  nymphs, 
with  fans  of  the  rarest  feathers,  and  at  her  feet   lay  one  older 
than  the  rest,  whose  lute,  though  now  silent,  attested  herlegiti 
mate  occupation. 

But,  had  the  room  in  itself  seemed  somewhat  too  fantastic 
and  overcharged  in  its  prodigal  ornaments,  the  form  and  face 
of  Nina  would  at  once  have  rendered  all  appropriate  ;  so  com- 
pletely did  she  seem  the  natural  Spirit  of  the  Place  ;  so  wonde^' 
fully  did  her  beauty,  elated  as  it  now  was  with  contented  lov^, 
gratified  vanity,  exultant  hope,  body  forth  the  brightest  visioi 
that  ever  floated  before  the  eyes  of  Tasso,  when  he  wrougbC 
into  one  immortal  shape  the  glory  of  the  Enchantress  with  the 
allurements  of  the  Woman. 

Nina  half  rose  as  she  saw  Ursula,  whose  sedate  and  mournful 
features  involuntarily  testified  her  surprise  and  admiration  at 
a  loveliness  so  rare  and  striking,  but  who,  undazzled  by  the 
splendor  around,  soon  recovered  her  wonted  self-composure, 
and  seated  herself  on  the  cushion  to  which  Nina  pointed,  while 
the  young  visitor  remained  standing,  and  spellbound  by  childish 
wonder,  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment.  Nina  recognized  him 
with  a  smile. 

"Ah,  my  pretty  boy,  whose  quick  eye  and  bold  air  caught 
my  fancy  yesterday  !  Have  you  come  to  accept  my  offer?  Is 
it  you,  madam,  who  claim  this  fair  child?" 

"  Lady,"  replied  Ursula,  "  my  business  here  is  brief :  by  a 
train  of  events,  needless  to  weary  you  with  narrating,  this  boy 
from  his  infancy  fell  to  my  charge — a  weighty  and  anxious 
trust  to  one  whose  thoughts  are  beyond  the  barrier  of  life.  I 
have  reared  him  as  became  a  youth  of  gentle  blood ;  for  on 
both  sides,  lady,  he  is  noble,  though  an  orphan,  motherless  and 
sireless." 

"Poor  child!"  said  Nina  compassionately. 

'*  Growing  now,''  continued  Ursula,  "  oppressed  by  years,  and 
e«^irous  only  to  make  my  peace  with  Heaven,  I  journeyed 
hither  some  months  since,  in  the  design  to  place  the  boy  with 
a  relation  of  mine  ;  and,  that  trust  fulfilled,  to  take  the  vows 
in  the  City  of  the  Apostle.  Alas  !  I  found  my  Iiinsman  dead, 
find  a  baron  of  wild  and  dissolute  character  was  his  heir.  Here 
remaining,  perplexed  and  anxious,  it  seemed  to  me  the  voice 
of  Providence  when,  yester-evening,  the  child  told  me  you  had 
been  pleased  to  honor  him  with  your  notice.  Like  the  rest  of 
Rome,  he  has  already  learned  enthusiasm  for  the  Tribune — • 
devotion  to  the  Tribune's  bride.     Will  you,  in  truth,  admit 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  iSj 

^iim  of  your  household?  He  will  not  dishonor  your  protection 
by  his  blood,  nor,  I  trust,  by  his  bearing." 

"^  I  would  take  his  face  for  his  guarantee,  madam,  even  with- 
ut  so  distinguished  a  recommendation  as  your  own.  Is  he 
ii^oman  ?     His  name  then  must  be  known  to  me." 

"Pardon  me,  lady,"  replied  Ursula  :  *'he  bears  the  name  of 
\ngelo  Villani — not  that  of  his  sire  or  mother.  The  honor  of 
-  iioble  house  forever  condemns  his  parentage  to  rest  unknown, 
ie  is  the  offspring  of  a  love  unsanctioned  by  the  church." 

"  He  is  tlie  more  to  be  loved,  then,  and  to  be  pitied — victim 
I.  sin  not  his  own  ! "  answered  Nina,  with  moistened  eyes,  as 
.,he  saw  the  deep  and  burning  blush  that  covered  the  boy's 
cheeks.  *'With  the  Tribune's  reign  commences  a  new  era  of 
nobility,  when  rank  and  knighthood  shall  be  won  by  a  man'3 
own  merit,  not  that  of  his  ancestors.  Fearnot,  madam  :  inmji 
house  he  shall  know  no  slight." 

Ursula  was  moved  trom  her  pride  by  the  kindness  of  Nina  ; 
she  approached  with  involuntary  reverence,  and  kissed  th# 
signora's  hand. 

"May  Our  Lady  reward  your  noble  heart!  "  said  she  :  "and 
now  my  mission  is  ended,  and  my  earthly  goal  is  won.  Add 
only,  lady,  to  your  inestimable  favors  one  more.  These 
jewels" — and  Ursula  drew  from  her  robe  a  casket,  touched  the 
spring,  and  the  lid,  flying  back,  discovered  jewels  of  great  size, 
and  the  most  brilliant  water, — "  these  jewels,"  she  continued, 
laying  the  casket  at  Nina's  feet  *'  once  belonging  to  the  princely 
house  of  Thoulouse,  are  valueless  to  me  and  mine.  Suffer  me 
io  think  that  they  are  transferred  to  one  whose  queenly  brow 
will  give  them  a  lustre  it  cannot  borrow." 

**  How  ! "  said  Nina,  coloring  very  deeply  ;  "  think  you, 
madam,  my  kindness  can  be  bought  ?  What  woman's  kind- 
jess  ever  was?  Nay,  nay,  take  back  the  gifts,  or  I  shall  pray 
you  to  take  back  your  boy." 

Ursula  was  astonished  and  confounded  :  to  her  experience 
ijVLch  abstinence  was  a  novelty,  and  she  scarcely  knew  how  to 
meet  it.  Nina  perceived  her  embarrassment  with  a  haughty 
and  triumphant  smile,  and  then,  regaining  her  former  courtesy 
of  demeanor,  said,  with  a  grave  sweetness  : 

"The  Tribune's  hands  are  clean,  the  Tribune's  wife  must  not 
be  suspected.  Rather,  madam,  should  I  press  upon  yau  some 
token  of  exchange  for  the  fair  charge  you  have  committed  to 
me.  Your  jewels  hereafter  may  profit  the  boy  in  his  career^ 
reserve  them  for  one  who  needs  them." 

"  J^o,  lady/'  said  Ursula,  rising  and  lifting  her  eyes  tc  heaveu; 


184  RIENZf, 

"they  shall  buy  masses  for  his  mother's  soul ;  for  him  I  shall 
reserve  a  competence  when  his  years  require  it.  Lady,  accept 
the  thanks  of  a  wretched  and  desolate  heart.     Fare  you  well  !  '* 

She  turned  to  quit  the  room,  but  with  so  faltering  and  weak 
a  step,  that  Nina,  touched  and  affected,  sprung  up,  and  with 
her  own  hand  guided  the  old  woman  across  the  room,  whisper- 
ing comfort  and  soothing  to  her ;  while,  as  they  reached  the 
door,  the  boy  rushed  forward,  and,  clasping  Ursula's  robe, 
sobbed  out :  "  Dear  dame,  not  one  farewell  for  your  little 
Angelo  !  Forgive  him  all  he  has  cost  you  !  Now,  for  the 
first  time,  I  feel  how  wayward  and  thankless  I  have  been." 

The  old  woman  caught  him  in  her  arms,  and  kissed  him  pas- 
sionately ;  when  the  boy,  as  if  a  thought  suddenly  struck  him, 
drew  forth  the  purse  she  had  given  him,  and  said,  in  a  choked 
and  scarce  articulate  voice  :  "And  let  this,  dearest  dame,  go 
in  masses  for  my  poor  father  s  soul ;  for  he  is  dead,  too,  you 
know  !  " 

These  words  seemed  to  freeze  at  once  all  the  tenderer  emo- 
tions of  Ursula.  She  put  back  the  boy  with  the  same  chilling 
and  stern  severity  of  aspect  and  manner  which  had  so  often 
before  repressed  him :  and,  recovering  her  self-possession,  at 
once  quitted  the  apartment  without  saying  another  word.  Nina, 
surprised,  but  still  pitying  her  sorrow  and  respecting  her  age, 
followed  her  steps  across  the  pages'  ante-room  and  the  recep- 
tion chamber,  even  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs, — a  condescension 
the  haughtiest  princess  of  Rome  could  not  have  won  from  her  ; 
and  returning,  saddened  and  thoughtful,  she  took  the  boy's 
hand,  and  affectionately  kissed  his  forehead. 

"  Poor  boy  ! "  she  said,  "  it  seems  as  if  Providence  had  made 
me  select  thee  yesterday  from  the  crowd,  and  thus  conducted 
thee  to  thy  proper  refuge.  For  to  whom  should  come  the 
friendless  and  the  orphans  of  Rome,  but  to  the  palace  of 
Rome's  first  Magistrate?"  Turning  then  to  her  attendants, 
she  gave  them  instructions  as  to  the  personal  comforts  of  her 
new  charge,  which  evinced  that  if  power  had  ministered  to  her 
vanity,  it  had  not  steeled  her  heart.  Angelo  Villani  lived  to 
repay  her  well ! 

She  retained  the  boy  in  her  presence,  and  conversing  with 
him  familiarly,  she  was  more  and  more  pleased  with  his  bold 
spirit  and  frank  manner.  Their  conversation  was  however  in- 
terrupted, as  the  day  advanced,  by  the  arrival  of  several  ladies 
of  the  Roman  nobility.  And  then  it  was  that  Nina's  virtues 
receded  into  shade,  and  her  faults  appeared.  She  could  not 
resist  the  wppian's  triumph  over  those  arrogant  signoras  whp 


THE    LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  -  lt85 

tiow  cringed  in  homage  where  they  had  once  slighted  with  dis- 
dain. She  affected  the  manner  of,  she  demanded  the  respect 
due  to,  a  queen.  And  by  many  of  those  dexterous  arts  which 
the  rex  know  so  well,  she  contrived  to  render  her  very  courtesy 
a  humiliation  to  her  haughty  guests.  Her  commanding  beauty 
and  her  graceful  intellect  saved  her,  indeed,  from  the  vulgar 
insolence  of  the  upstart ;  but  yet  more  keenly  stung  the  pride, 
by  forbidding  to  those  she  mortified  the  retaliation  of  contempt. 
Hers  were  the  covert  taunt,  the  smiling  affront,  the  sarcasm  in 
the  mask  of  compliment,  the  careless  exaction  of  respect  in 
trifles,  which  could  not  outwardly  be  resented,  but  which  could 
not  inly  be  forgiven. 

"  Fair  day  to  the  Signora  Colonna,"  said  she  to  the  proud 
wife  of  the  proud  Stephen  ;  "we  passed  your  palace  yesterday. 
How  fair  it  now  seems,  relieved  from  those  gloomy  battlements 
which  it  must  often  have  saddened  you  to  gaze  upon.  Signora 
(turning  to  one  of  the  Orsini),  your  lord  has  high  favor  with 
the  Tribune,  who  destines  him  to  great  command.  His  fortunes 
are  secured,  and  we  rejoice  at  it ;  for  no  man  more  loyally 
serves  the  state.  Have  you  seen,  fair  Lady  of  Frangipani,  the 
last  verses  of  Petrarch  in  honor  of  my  lord  ? — they  rest  yon- 
der. May  we  so  far  venture  as  to  request  you  to  point  out 
their  beauties  to  the  Signora  di  Savelli  ?  We  rejoice,  noble 
Lady  of  Malatesta,  to  observe  that  your  eyesight  is  so  well  re- 
stored. The  last  time  we  met,  though  we  stood  next  to  you  in 
the  revels  of  the  Lady  Giulia,  you  seemed  scarce  to  distinguish 
us  from  the  pillar  by  which  we  stood  !  " 

"  Must  this  insolence  be  endured  !  "  whispered  the  Signora 
Frangipani  to  the  Signora  Malatesta. 

"  Hush,  hush  J  if  ever  it  be  our  day  again  I  *' 


CHAPTER   11. 

THE     BLESSING     OF     A     COUNCILLOR     WHOSE     INTERESTS     AND 

HEART    ARE    OUR    OWN. THE    STRAWS    THROWN    UPWARD,— 

DO    THEY    PORTEND    A    STORM? 

It  was  later  that  day  than  usual  when  Rienzi  returned  from 
his  tribunal  to  the  apartments  of  the  palace.  As  he  traversed 
the  reception  hall  his  countenance  was  much  Hushed  ;  his  teeth 
were  set  firmly,  like  a  man  who  has  tnken  a  sfong  resolution, 
from  which  he  will  not  b(?  moved ;  and  his  brow  was  dark  witlj 


l86  RIENZI, 

that  settled  and  fearful  frown  which  the  describers  of  his  per* 
sonal  appearance  have  not  failed  to  notice  as  the  characteristic 
of  an  anger  the  more  deadly  because  invariably  just.  Close  at 
his  heels  followed  the  Bishop  of  Orvietto  and  the  aged  Stephen 
Colonna.  "I  tell  you,  my  lords,"  said  Rienzi,  "that  ye  plead 
in  vain.  Rome  knows  no  distinction  between  ranks.  The  law 
is  blind  to  the  agent,  lynx-eyed  to  the  deed." 

"Yet,"  said  Raimond  hesitatingly,  "bethink  thee,  Tribune; 
the  nephew  of  two  cardinals,  and  himself  once  a  senator." 

Rienzi  halted  abruptly,  and  faced  his  companions.  "  My 
Lord  Bishop,"  said  he,  "does  not  this  make  the  crime  more 
inexcusable  ?  Look  you,  thus  it  reads  :  A  vessel  from  Avignon 
to  Naples,  charged  with  the  revenues  of  Provence  to  Queen 
Joanna,  on  whose  cause,  mark  you,  we  now  hold  solemn  coun- 
cil, is  wrecked  at  the  mouth  of  the  Tiber  ;  with  that,  Martino 
di  Porto — a  noble,  as  you  say — the  holder  of  that  fortress 
whence  he  derives  his  title, — doubly  bound  by  gentle  blood 
and  by  immediate  neighborhood  to  succor  the  oppressed — falls 
upon  the  vessel  with  his  troops  (what  hath  the  rebel  with  armed 
troops?)  and  pillages  the  vessel  like  a  common  robber. 
He  is  apprehended,  brought  to  my  tribunal,  receives  fair 
trial,  is  condemned  to  die.  Such  is  the  law ;  what  more  would 
ye  have?" 

"  Mercy,"  said  the  Colonna. 

Rienzi  folded  his  arms  and  laughed  disdainfully.  "I  never 
heard  my  Lord  Colonna  plead  for  mercy  when  a  peasant  had 
stolen  the  bread  that  was  to  feed  his  famishing  children." 

"  Between  a  peasant  and  a  prince,  Tribune,  /,  for  one,  recog- 
nize a  distinction  :  the  bright  blood  of  an  Orsini  is  not  to  be 
shed  like  that  of  a  base  plebeian — " 

"Which,  1  remember  me,"  said  Rienzi,  in  a  low  voice,  ''you 
deemed  small  matter  enough  when  my  boy-brother  fell  beneath 
the  wanton  spear  of  your  proud  son.  Wake  not  that  memory, 
I  warn  you  ;  let  it  sleep.  For  shame, old  Colonna,  for  shame; 
so  near  the  grave,  where  the  worm  levels  all  flesh,  and  preach- 
ing, with  those  gray  hairs,  the  uncharitable  distinction  between 
man  and  man.  Is  there  not  distinction  enough  at  the  best? 
Does  not  one  wear  purple,  and  the  other  rags  ?  Hath  not  one 
ease,  and  the  other  toil  ?  Doth  not  the  one  banquet,  while 
the  other  starves?  Do  I  nourish  any  mad  scheme  to  level  the 
ranks  which  society  renders  a  necessary  evil  ?  No.  I  war  no 
more  with  Dives  than  with  Lazarus.  But  before  man's  judg- 
ment-seat, as  before  God's,  Lazarus  and  Dives  are  made  equal 
Wo  more." 


tME  LAST  O'F  THE  TRIBUNES.  sS) 

Colonna  drew  his  robe  round  him  with  great  haughtiness, 
and  bit  his  lip  in  silence.     K.aimond  interposed. 

"  All  this  is  true,  Tribune.  But,"  and  he  drew  Rienzi  aside, 
**  you  know  we  must  be  politic  as  just.  Nephew  to  two  Car- 
dinals, what  emnity  will  not  this  provoke  at  Avignon  ?  ' 

"Vex  not  yourself,  holy  Raimond,  I  will  answer  it  to  the 
Pontiff."     While  they  spoke  the  bell  tolled  heavily  and  loudly. 

Colonna  started. 

"Great  Tribune,"  said  he,  with  a  slight  sneer,  "deign  to 
pause  ere  it  be  too  late.  I  know  not  that  I  ever  before  bent  to 
you  a  suppliant ;  and  I  ask  you  now  to  spare  mine  own  foe. 
Stephen  Colonna  prays  Cola  di  Rienzi  to  spare  the  life  of  an 
Orsini." 

"  I  understand  thy  taunt,  old  lord,"  said  Rienzi  calmly,  "but 
I  resent  it  not.  You  are  foe  to  the  Orsini,  yet  you  plead  for 
him — it  sounds  generous  ;  but  hark  you,  you  are  more  a  friend 
to  your  order  than  a  foe  to  your  rival.  You  cannot  bear  that  one, 
great  enough  to  have  contended  with  you,  should  perish  like  a 
thief.  I  give  full  praise  to  such  noble  forgiveness  ;  but  I  am 
no  noble,  and  I  do  not  sym.pathize  with  it.  One  word  more  : 
if  this  were  the  sole  act  of  fraud  and  violence  that  this  bandit 
baron  had  committed,  your  prayers  should  plead  for  him  ;  but 
is  not  his  life  notorious  ?  Has  he  not  been  from  boyhood  the 
terror  and  disgrace  of  Rome  ?  How  many  matrons  violated, 
merchants  pillaged,  peaceful  men  stilettoed  in  the  daylight, 
rise  in  dark  witness  against  the  prisoner  ?  And  for  such  a  man 
do  I  live  to  hear  an  aged  prince  and  a  pope's  vicar  plead  for  mer- 
cy ?  Fie,  fie  !  But  I  will  be  even  with  ye.  The  next  poor  man 
whom  the  law  sentences  to  death,  for  your  sake  will  I  pardon." 

Raimond  again  drew  aside  the  Tribune,  while  Colonna  strug- 
gled to  suppress  his  rage. 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  Bishop,  "the  nobles  will  feel  this  as 
an  insult  to  their  whole  order ;  the  very  pleading  of  Orsini's 
worst  foe  must  convince  thee  of  this.  Martino's  blood  wil! 
seal  their  reconciliation  with  each  other,  and  they  will  be  as: 
one  man  against  thee." 

"  Be  it  so  :  with  God  and  the  People  on  my  side,  I  will  dare 
though  a  Roman,  to  be  just.  The  bell  ceases — you  are  already 
too  late.'*  So  saying,  Rienzi  threw  open  the  casement  ;  and  by 
the  Staircase  of  the  Lion  rose  a  gibbet  from  which  swung  with 
a  creaking  sound,  arrayed  in  his  patrician  robes,  the  yet  palpi* 
tating  corpse  of  Martino  di  Porto. 

"  Behold  !  "  said  the  Tribune  sternly,  "  thus  die  all  robberSc 
For  traitors^  the  sam«  law  has  the  axe  and  the  scaffold  [  " 


l88  R1EN21, 

Raimond  drew  back  and  turned  pale.  Not  so  the  veteran 
noble.  Tears  of  wounded  pride  started  from  his  eyes  ;  he 
approached,  leaning  on  his  staff,  to  Rienzi,  touched  him  on 
his  shoulder,  and  said  : 

**  Tribune,  a  judge  has  lived  to  envy  his  victim  !  " 

Rienzi  turned  with  an  equal  pride  to  the  Baron. 

*'VVe  forgive  idle  words  in  the  aged.  My  lord,  have  you 
done  with  us  ?     We  would  be  alone." 

"  Give  me  thine  arm,  Raimond,"  said  Stephen.  ''Tribune, 
farewell.  Forget  that  the  Colonna  sued  thee, — an  easy  task, 
methinks  ;  for,  wise  as  you  are,  you  forget  what  every  one 
else  can  remember." 

"Ay,  my  lord,  what?" 

''Birth,  Tribune,  birth— that's  all !  " 

"The  Signor  Colonna  has  taken  up  my  old  calling,  and 
turned  a  wit,"  returned  Rienzi,  with  an  indifferent  and  easy 
tone. 

Then  following  Raimond  and  Stephen  with  his  eyes, till  the 
door  closed  upon  them, he  muttered,  "Insolent!  Were  it  not 
for  Adrian,  thy  gray  beard  should  not  bear  thee  harmless. 
Birth  !  what  Colonna  would  not  boast  himself,  if  he  could,  the 
grandson  of  an  emperor?  Old  man,  there  is  danger  in  thee 
which  must  be  watched."  With  that  he  turned  musingly  to- 
ward the  casement,  and  again  that  grisly  spectacle  of  death 
met  his  eye.  The  people  below,assembled  in  large  concourse, 
rejoiced  at  the  execution  of  onewhose  whole  life  had  been  in- 
famy and  rapine,  but  who  had  seemed  beyond  justice,  with  all 
the  fierce  clamor  that  marks  the  exultation  of  the  rabble  over 
a  crushed  foe.  And  where  Rienzi  stood  he  heard  their  shouts 
of  "Long  live  the  Tribune,  the  just  judge,  Rome's  libera- 
tor !  "  But  at  that  time  other  thoughts  deafened  his  senses 
to  the  popular  enthusiasm. 

"My  poor  brother ! "  he  said  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "it  was 
owing  to  this  man's  crimes — and  to  a  crime  almost  similar  to 
that  for  which  he  has  now  suffered — that  thou  wert  entrained 
to  the  slaughter ;  and  they  who  had  no  pity  for  the  lamb, 
clamor  for  compassion  to  the  wolf  !  Ah,  wert  thou  living 
now,  how  these  proud  heads  would  bend  to  thee  ;  though 
dead  thou  wert  not  worthy  of  a  thought.  God  rest  thy 
gentle  soul,  and  keep  my  ambition  pure  as  it  was  when  we 
walked  at  twilight,  side  by  side  together  ! " 

The  Tribune  shut  the  casement,  and,  turning  away,  sought 
the  chamber  of  Nina.  On  hearing  his  step  without,  she  had 
already  risen  from  the  couch,  her  eyes  sparkling,  her  bosom 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  189 

heaving ;  and  as  he  entered,  she  threw  herself  on  his  neck,  and 
murmured  as  she  nestled  to  his  breast,  *' Ah,  the  hours  sinc^ 
we  parted  ! " 

It  was  a  singular  thing  to  see  that  proud  lady,  proud  of  her 
beauty,  her  station,  her  new  honors  ;  whose  gorgeous  vanity 
was  already  the  talk  of  Rome,  and  the  reproach  to  Rienzi — 
how  suddenly  and  miraculously  she  seemed  changed  in  his 
presence  !  Blushing  and  timid,  all  pride  in  herself  seemed 
merged  in  her  proud  love  for  him.  No  woman  ever  loved  to 
the  full  extent  of  the  passion  who  did  not  venerate  where  she 
loved,  and  who  did  not  feel  humbled  (delighted  in  that  humil- 
ity) by  her  exaggerated  and  overweening  estimate  of  the  supe- 
riority of  the  object  of  her  worship. 

And  it  might  be  the  consciousness  of  this  distinction  between 
himself  and  all  other  created  things  which  continued  to  increase 
the  love  of  the  Tribune  to  his  bride,  to  blind  him  to  her  fail- 
ings towards  others,  and  to  indulge  her  in  a  magnificence  of 
parade,  which,  though  to  a  certain  point  politic  to  assume, 
was  carried  to  an  extent  which,  if  it  did  not  conspire  to 
produce  his  downfall,  has  served  the  Romans  with  an  ex- 
cuse for  their  own  cowardice  and  desertion,  and  historians 
with  a  plausible  explanation  of  causes  they  had  not  the  indus- 
try to  fathom.  Rienzi  returned  his  wife's  caresses  with  an 
equal  affection,  and  bending  down  to  her  beautiful  face,  the 
sight  was  sufficient  to  chase  from  his  brow  the  emotions, 
whether  severe  or  sad,  which  had  lately  darkened  its  broad 
expanse. 

*'  Thou  hast  not  been  abroad  this  morning,  Nina  !  " 

"No,  the  heat  was  oppressive.  But  nevertheless,  Cola,  I 
have  not  lacked  company ;  half  the  matronage  of  Rome  has 
crowded  the  palace." 

"Ah,  I  warrant  it.     But  yon  boy,  is  he  not  a  new  face?" 

"  Hush,  Cola,  speak  to  him  kindly,  I  entreat  :  of  his  story 
anon.  Angelo,  approach.  You  see  your  new  master,  tue 
Tribune  of  Rome." 

Angelo  approached  with  a  timidity  not  his  wont,  for  an  air 
of  majesty  was  at  all  times  natural  to  Rienzi,  and  since  his 
power  it  had  naturally  taken  a  graver  and  austerer  aspect, 
which  impressed  those  who  approached  him,  even  the  ambas- 
sadors of  princes,  with  a  certain  involuntary  awe.  The  Trib- 
une smiled  at  the  effect  he  saw  he  had  produced,  and  being 
by  temper  fond  of  children,  and  affable  to  all  but  the  great,  he 
hastened  to  dispel  it.  He  took  the  child  affectionately  in  his 
arms,  kissed  him,  and  bade  him  welcome* 


IS90  RIENZI, 

"  May  we  have  a  son  as  fair  !  "  he  whispered  to  Nina,  who 
blushed  and  turned  away. 

"  Thy  name,  my  little  friend  ?" 

"Angelo  Villani." 

**  A  Tuscan  name.  There  is  a  man  of  letters  at  Florence, 
doubtless  writing  our  annals  from  hearsay  at  this  moment, 
called  Villani.     Perhaps  akin  to  thee  ?  " 

"I  have  no  kin,"  said  the  boy  bluntly  ;  "and  therefore  I 
shall  the  better  love  the  Signora  and  honor  you,  if  you  will  let 
jae.     I  am  Roman — all  the  Roman  boys  honor  Rienzi." 

"Do  they,  my  brave  lad  ?"  said  the  Tribune,  coloring  with 
pleasure  ;  *'  that  is  a  good  omen  of  my  continued  prosperity." 
He  put  down  the  boy  and  threw  himself  on  the  cushions, 
while  Nina  placed  herself  on  a,  kind  of  low  stool  beside 
him. 

"Let  us  be  alone,"  said  he  ;  and  Nina  motioned  to  the  at- 
tendant maidens  to  withdraw. 

"  Take  my  new  page  with  you,"  said  she  ;  "he  is  yet,  per- 
haps, too  fresh  from  home  to  enjoy  the  company  of  his  giddy 
brethren." 

When  they  were  alone,  Nina  proceeded  to  narrate  to  Rienzi 
the  adventure  of  the  morning  ;  but,  though  he  seemed  out- 
wardly to  listen,  his  gaze  was  on  vacancy,  and  he  was  evidently 
abstracted  and  self-absorbed.  At  length,  as  she  concluded, 
he  said,  "  Well,  Nina,  you  have  acted  as  ever,  kindly  and  no- 
bly.    Let  us  to  other  themes.     I  am  in  danger." 

"  Danger  !  "  echoed  Nina,  turning  pale. 

"  Why,  the  word  must  not  appal  you  ;  you  have  a  spirit  like 
mine,  that  scorns  fear ;  and  for  that  reason,  Nina,  in  all  Rome 
you  are  my  only  confidant.  It  was  not  only  to  glad  me  with 
thy  beauty,  but  to  cheer  me  with  thy  counsel,  to  support  me 
with  thy  valor,  that  Heaven  gave  me  thee  as  a  helpmate." 

"  Now,  Our  Lady  bless  thee  for  those  words  !  "  said  Nina, 
hissing  the  hand  that  hung  over  her  shoulder  ;  and  if  I  started 
cit  the  word  danger,  it  was  but  the  woman's  thought  of  thee; 
an  unworthy  thought,  my  Cola,  for  glory  and  danger  go  to- 
gether. And  I  am  as  ready  to  share  the  last  as  the  first.  If 
the  hour  of  trial  evei  i:ome,  none  of  thy  friends  shall  be  so 
faithful  to  thy  side  as  this  weak  form  but  undaunted  heart.'* 

"  I  know  it,  my  own  Nina  ;  I  know  it,"  said  Rienzi,  rising  and 
pacing  the  chamber  with  large  and  rapid  strides.  "Now  listen 
to  me.  'i'hou  knovvr^t  that  to  govern  in  safety  it  is  my  policy 
as  my  pride  to  goverti  jiAstly.  To  govertt  justly  ia  ftn  awful 
Ihni^,  whrn  mi^hiiy  iMitT*^«  nrf:  tl»«  eui-f^ritf,    -Nina*  fo?  *n  o|>fa 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  U)t 

and  audacious  robbery,  our  court  has  sentenced  Martin  of  the 
Orsini,  the  Lord  of  Porto,  to  death.  His  corpse  swings  now 
on  the  Staircase  of  the  Lion." 

"A  dreadful  doom  !  "  said  Nina,  shuddering. 

"  True  ;  but  by  his  death  thousands  of  poor  and  honest  men 
may  live  in  peace.  It  is  not  that  which  troubles  me  :  the 
barons  resent  the  deed,  as  an  insult  to  them  that  law  should 
touch  a  noble.  They  will  rise  ;  they  will  rebel  ;  I  foresee  tha 
storm  ;  not  the  spell  to  allay  it." 

Nina  paused  a  moment  :  "They  have  taken,"  she  then  said, 
"a  solemn  oath  on  the  Eucharist  not  to  bear  arms  against 
thee." 

"  Perjury  is  a  light  addition  to  theft  and  murder,"  answered 
Rienzi,  with  his  sarcastic  smile. 

*'  But  the  people  are  faithful." 

"  Yes,  but  in  a  civil  war  (which  the  saints  forefend  !)  those 
oombatants  are  the  stanchest  who  have  no  home  but  their 
armor,  no  calling  but  the  sword.  The  trader  will  not  leave  his 
trade  at  the  toll  of  a  bell  every  day  :  but  the  barons'  soldiery 
are  ready  at  all  hours." 

"To  be  strong,"  said  Nina — who,  summoned  to  the  councils 
of  her  lord,  showed  an  intellect  not  unworthy  of  the  honor, — • 
**  to  be  strong  in  dangerous  times,  authority  must  seem  strong. 
By  showing  no  fear,  you  may  prevent  the  cause  of  fear." 

"  My  own  thought  !  "  returned  Rienzi  quickly.  "  You  know 
that  half  my  power  with  these  barons  is  drawn  from  the  homage 
rendered  to  me  by  foreign  States.  When  from  every  city  in 
f  Italy  the  ambassadors  of  crowned  princes  seek  the  alliance  of 
the  Tribune,  they  must  veil  their  resentment  at  the  rise  of  the 
plebeian.  On  the  other  hand,  to  be  strong  abroad  I  must 
seem  strong  at  home  :  the  vast  design  I  have  planned,  and,  as  by 
a  miracle,  begun  to  execute,  will  fail  at  once  if  it  seem  abroad 
to  be  intrusted  to  an  unsteady  and  fluctuating  power.  That 
design  (continued  Rienzi,  pausing,  and  placing  his  hand  on  a 
marble  bust  of  the  young  Augustus)  is  greater  than  his,  whose 
profound  yet  icy  soul  united  Italy  in  subjection,  for  it  would' 
unite  Italy  in  freedom  ;  yes  !  could  we  but  form  one  great  fed- 
erative league  of  all  the  States  of  Italy,  each  governed  by 
its  own  laws,  but  united  for  mutual  and  common  protection 
against  the  Attilas  of  the  North,  with  Rome  for  their  Metroj>- 
olis  and  their  Mother,  this  age  and  this  brain  would  have 
wrought  an  enterprise  which  men  should  quote  till  the  sound 
of  the  last  trump." 

**  I  know  thy  divine  scheme,"  said  Nina,  catching  his  enthu* 


192  RIENZI, 

siasm  ;  "and  what  if  there  be   danger  in  attaining  it?     Hav-:? 
we  not  mastered  the  greatest  danger  in  the  first  step  ?  " 

"Right,  Nina,  right  \  Heaven  (and  the  Tribune,  who  ever 
recognized,  in  his  own  fortunes,  tlie  agency  of  the  hand  above, 
crossed  himself  reverently)  will  preserve  him  to  whom  it 
hath  vouchsafed  such  iofty  visions  of  the  future  redemption  of 
the  Land  of  the  true  Church,  and  the  liberty  and  advancement  of 
its  children!  This  I  trust:  already  many  of  the  cities  of 'I'uscany 
have  entered  into  treaties  for  the  formation  of  this  league  ;  nor 
from  a  single  tyrant,  save  John  di  Vico,  have  I  received  aught 
but  fair  words  and  flattering  promises.  The  time  seems  npe 
for  the  grand  stroke  of  all." 

And  what  is  that.?  "  demanded  Nina  wonderingly. 

**  Defiance  to  all  foreign  interference.  By  what  right  does  a 
synod  of  stranger  princes  give  Rome  a  king  in  some  Teuton 
Emperor  ?  Rome's  people  alone  should  choose  Rome's  gov- 
ernor ;  and  shall  we  cross  the  Alps  to  render  the  title  of  our 
master  to  the  descendants  of  the  Goth  ?  " 

Nina  was  silent :  the  custom  of  choosing  the  sos^ereign  by  a 
diet  beyond  the  Rhine,  reserving  only  the  ceremony  of  his  sub- 
sequent coronation  for  the  mock  assent  of  the  Romans,  how- 
ever degrading  to  that  people,  and  however  hostile  '^o  all  n.otions 
of  substantia?;  independence,  was  so  unquestioned  at  that  time, 
that  Rienzi's  daring  suggestion  left  her  awazed  and  breathkss, 
prepared  as  she  was  for  ary  scheme;  hov  ever  «',xtravagartly 
bold. 

"  How  !  **  saicl  she,  after  a  long  pause  ;  "  do  I  understand 
aright  ?     Can  you  mean  defiance  to  the  £mperor  ?  " 

"  Why,  listen  :  at  this  moment  there  are  two  pretenders  to  the 
throne  of  Rome — to  the  imperial  crown  of  Italy — a  Bohemian 
and  a  Bavarian.  To  their  election  our  assent — Rome's  assent — 
is  not  requisite  ;  not  asked.  Can  we  be  called  free — can  we  boast 
ourselves  r'^publican — when  a  stranger  and  a  barbarian  is  thus 
thrust  upcm  our  necks?  No,  we  will  be  free  in  reality  as  in 
mame.  Resides  (contmued  tne  Tribune,  in  a  calmer  tone),  this 
seems  to  me  politic  as  well  as  daring.  The  people  incessantly 
demand  wonders  from  me :  how  can  I  more  nobly  dazzle, 
more  virtuously  win  them,  than  by  asserting  their  inalienable 
right  to  choose  their  own  rulers  ?  The  daring  will  awe  the 
barons,  and  foreigners  themselves  ;  it  will  give  a  startling  ex- 
ampl  I  to  all  Italy  ;  it  will  be  the  first  brand  of  an  universal  blaze: 
It  shall  be  done,  and  with  a  pomp  that  befits  the  deed  !  " 

"Cola,"  said  Nina  hesitatingly,  "your  eagle  spirit  often 
isctnas  where  mine  fla^s  to  follow  ;  yet  be  not  over-bold." 


THE   *.A§T   OF   THE   TRlfeUNES.  t^^ 

**  Nay,  did  you  not,  a  moment  since,  preach  a  different  doc- 
irine  ?     To  be  strong,  was  I  not  to  seem  strong?  " 

*'  May  fate  preserve  you  !  "  said  Nina,  with  a  foreboding  sigh. 

*'  Fate  !  "  cried  Rienzi  ;  "  there  is  no  fate  !  Between  the 
thought  and  the  success  God  is  the  only  agent,  and  (he  added 
with  a  voice  of  deep  solemnity)  1  shall  not  be  deserted.  Visions 
by  night,  even  while  thine  arms  are  around  me  ;  omens  and 
impulses,  stirring  and  divine,  by  day,  even  in  the  midst  of  the 
living  crowd,  encourage  my  path,  and  point  my  goal.  Now, 
even  now,  a  voice  seems  to  whisper  in  my  ear  :  '  Pause  not  ; 
tremble  not ;  waver  not  ;  for  the  eye  of  the  All-Seeing  is  upon 
thee,  and  the  hand  of  the  All-Powerful  shall  protect  !  " 

As  Rienzi  thus  spoke  his  face  grew  pale,  his  hair  seemed  to 
bristle,  his  tall  and  proud  form  trembled  visibly,  and  presently 
he  sunk  down  on  a  seat  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

An  awe  crept  over  Nina,  though  not  unaccustomed  to  such 
strange  and  preternatural  emotions,  which  appeared  yet  the 
more  singular  in  one  who  in  common  life  was  so  calm,  stately, 
and  self-possessed.  But  with  every  increase  of  prosperity  and 
power  those  emotions  seemed  toincreasein  their  fervor,  as  if  in 
such  increase  the  devout  and  overwrought  superstition  of  the 
Tribune  recognized  additional  proof  of  a  mysterious  guardian- 
ship mightier  than  the  valor  or  art  of  man. 

She  approached  fearfully,  and  threw  her  arms  around  him, 
but  without  speaking. 

Ere  yet  the  Tribune  had  well  recovered  himself  a  slight  tap 
at  the  door  was  heard,  and  the  sound  seemed  at  once  to  recall 
his  self-possession. 

"  Enter,"  he  said,  lifting  his  face,  to  which  the  wonted  color 
slowly  returned. 

An  officer,  half-opening  the  door,  announced  that  the  person 
he  had  sent  for  waited  his  leisure. 

"  I  come  !  Core  of  my  heart  "  (he  whispered  to  Nina),  "  we 
will  sup  alone  to-night,  and  will  converse  more  on  these  mat- 
ters "  ;  so  saying,  with  somewhat  less  than  his  usual  loftiness  of 
mien  he  left  the  room,  and  sought  his  cabinet,  which  lay  at  the 
other  side  of  the  reception  chamber.  Here  he  found  Cecco  del 
Vecchio. 

"  How,  my  bold  fellow,"  said  the  Tribune,  assuming  with 
wonderful  ease  that  air  of  friendly  equality  which  he  always 
adopted  with  those  of  the  lower  class,  and  which  made  a  strik- 
ing contrast  with  the  majesty,  no  less  natural,  which  marked 
his  manner  to  the  great.  "  How  now,  my  Cecco !  Thou 
Nearest  thyself  bravely,  I  see,  during  these  sickly  heats ;  we 


i94  RieN2i, 

laborers — for  both  of  us  labor,  Cecco — are  toe  busy  to  fall  ill  as 
ihe  idle  do,  in  the  summer,  or  the  autumn,  of  Roman  skies.  I 
sent  for  thee,  Cecco,  because  I  would  know  how  thy  fellow- 
craftsmen  are  like  to  take  the  Orsini's  execution." 

'*  Oh  !  Tribune,"  replied  the  artificer,  who,  now  familinrized 
with  Rienzi,  had  lost  much  of  his  earlier  awe  of  him,  and  who 
regarded  the  Tribune's  power  as  partly  his  own  creation  ;  "  they 
are  already  out  of  their  honest  wits,  at  your  courage  in  punish- 
ing the  great  men  as  you  would  the  small." 

"So;  I  am  repaid!  But  hark  you,  Cecco,  it  will  bring, 
perhaps,  hot  work  upon  us.  Every  baron  will  dread  lest  it  be 
his  turn  next,  and  dread  will  make  them  bold,  like  rats  in  de- 
spair.    We  may  have  to  fight  for  the  Good  Estate." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Tribune,"  answered  Cecco  gruffly.  "  I, 
for  one,  am  no  craven." 

"  Then  keep  the  same  spirit  in  all  your  meetings  with  the 
artificers.  I  fight  for  the  people.  The  people  at  a  pinch  must 
fight  with  me." 

"  They  will,"  replied  Cecco  ;  "they  will." 

"  Cecco,  this  city  is  under  the  spiritual  dominion  of  fnc 
Pontiff — so  be  it — it  is  an  honor,  not  a  burthen.  But  the 
temporal  dominion,  my  friend,  should  be  with  Romans  only. 
Is  it  not  a  disgrace  to  Republican  Rome,  that  while  we  now 
speak  certain  barbarians,  whom  we  never  heard  of,  should  be 
deciding  beyond  the  Alps  on  the  merits  of  two  sovereigns, 
whom  we  never  saw?  Is  not  this  a  thing  to  be  resisted  ?  An 
Italian  city, — what  hath  it  to  do  with  a  Bohemian  Emperor?" 

"  Little  eno*,  St.  Paul  knows  ! "  said  Cecco. 

"Should  it  not  be  a  claim  questioned?" 

"  I  think  so  !  "  replied  the  smith. 

"  And  if  found  an  outrage  on  our  ancient  laws,  should  it  not 
be  a  claim  resisted  ?  " 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it." 

"  Well,  go  to  !  The  archives  assure  me  that  never  was  enw 
peror  lawfully  crowned  but  by  the  free  votes  of  the  peoplfe 
We  never  chose  Bohemian  or  Bavarian." 

"  But,  on  the  contrary,  whenever  these  Northmen  come  hithe* 
to  be  crowned,  we  try  to  drive  them  away  with  stones  and 
curses, — for  we  are  a  people,  Tribune,  that  love  our  lib- 
erties." 

"  Go  back  to  your  friends  :  see,  address  them  ;  say  that  your 
Tribune  will  demand  of  these  pretenders  to  Rome  the  right  to 
her  throne.  Let  them  not  be  mazed  or  startled,  but  support 
me  when  the  occasion  comes." 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  195 

"  I  am  glad  of  this,"  quoth  the  huge  smith  ;  "for  our  friends 
Aave  grown  c.  little  unruly  of  late,  and  say — " 

''What  do  they  say?" 

'  That  it  is  true  you  have  expelled  the  banditti,  and  curb  the 
barons,  and  administer  justice  fairly — " 

"  Is  not  that  miracle  enough  for  the  space  of  some  Lwo  or 
ihree  short  months  ?  " 

"  Why,  they  say  it  would  have  been  more  than  enough  in  \ 
noble;  but  you,  being  raised  from  the  people,  and  having  such 
gifts  and  so  forth,  might  do  yet  more.  It  is  now  three  weeks 
since  they  have  had  any  new  thing  to  talk  about  ;  but  Orsini's 
execution  to-day  will  cheer  them  a  bit." 

*'  Well,  Cecco,  well,"  said  the  Tribune,  rising,  "  they  shall 
have  more  anon  to  feed  their  mouths  with.  So  you  think 
they  love  me  not  quite  so  well  as  they  did  some  three  weeks 
back  ? " 

"  I  say  not  so,"  answered  Cecco.  ^^  But  we  Romans  are  an 
impatient  people.'* 

'*  Alas,  yes  I  " 

'^  However,  they  will  no  doubt  stick  close  enough  to  you  ; 
provided,  Tribune,  you  don't  put  any  new  tax  upon  them." 

*'  Ha  !  But  if,  in  order  to  be  free,  it  be  necessary  to  fight ; 
if  to  light,  it  be  necessary  to  have  soldiers,  why  then  the  soldiers 
must  be  paid  :  won't  the  people  contribute  something  to  their 
own  liberties  ;  to  just  laws,  and  safe  lives  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  returned  the  smith,  scratching  his  head  as 
if  a  little  puzzled  ;  "  but  I  know  that  poor  men  won't  be  over- 
taxed. They  say  they  are  better  off  wath  you  than  with  the 
barons  before,  and  therefore  they  love  you.  But  men  in  busi- 
ness. Tribune,  poor  men  with  families,  must  look  to  their 
bellies.  Only  one  man  in  ten  goes  to  law  ;  only  one  man  in 
twenty  is  butchered  by  a  baron's  brigand  ;  but  every  man  eats, 
and  drinks,  and  feels  a  tax." 

"This  cannot  be  your  reasoning,  Cecco!"  said  Rienzi 
gravely. 

"  Why,  Tribune,  I  am  an  honest  man,  but  I  have  a  large 
family  to  rear." 

"  Enough  ;  enough  !  "  said  the  Tribune  quickly  ;  and  then 
he  added  abstractedly  as  to  himself,  but  aloud  :  "  Methinks 
we  have  been  too  lavish  ;  these  shows  and  spectacles  should 
cease." 

"What!"  cried  Cecco  ;'* what,  Tribune  !  would  you  deny 
the  poor  fellows  a  holiday  ;  They  work  hard  enough,  and  their 
©nly  plt^aswre  i«  seeing  your  iliae  shows  {\n^  prgcessions  ;  and 


I96  RIENZI, 

then  they  go  home  and  say:  '^*  See,  our  man  beats  all  the  barons? 
what  state  he  keeps  !  " 

"Ah  !  they  blame  not  my  splendor,  then  !  " 

"Blame  it ;  no  !  Without  it  they  would  be  ashamed  of  you, 
and  think  the  Buono  Stato  but  a  shabby  concern." 

"  You  speak  bluntly^  Cecco,  but  perhaps  wisely.  The  saints 
keep  you  !     Fail  not  to  remember  what  I  told  you  \ " 

*'  No,  no  !  It  is  a  shame  to  have  an  Emperor  thrust  upon  us ; 
so  it  is.     Good-evening,  Tribune." 

Left  alone,  the  Tribune  remained  for  some  time  plunged  in 
gloomy  and  foreboding  thoughts. 

"  I  am  in  the  midst  of  a  magician's  spell."  said  he  ;  "if  I 
desist,  the  fiend  tears  me  to  pieces.  What  I  have  begun,  that 
must  I  conclude.  But  this  rude  man  shows  me  too  well  with 
what  tools  I  work.  For  me  tailure  is  nothing.  I  have  already 
climbed  to  a  greatness  which  might  render  giddy  many  a  born 
prince's  brain.  But  with  my  fall,  Rome,  Italy,  Peace,  Justice, 
Civilization,  all  fall  back  in  the  abyss  of  ages  !  " 

He  rose  ;  and  after  once  or  twice  pacing  his  apartment,  in 
which  from  many  a  column  gleamed  upon  him  the  marble 
effigies  of  the  great  of  old,  he  opened  the  casement  to  inhale 
the  air  of  the  now  declining  day. 

The  Place  of  the  Capitol  was  deserted,  save  by  the  tread  of 
the  single  sentinel.  But  still,  dark  and  fearful,  hung  from  the 
tall  gibbet  the  clay  of  the  robber  noble  ;  and  the  colossal  shape 
of  the  Egyptian  lion  rose  hard  by,  sharp  and  dark  in  the 
breathless  atmosphere. 

*'  Dread  statue  !  "  thought  Rienzi,  "how  many  unwhispered 
and  solemn  rites  hast  thou  witnessed  by  thy  native  Nile,  ere 
tne  Roman's  hand  transferred  thee  hither — the  antique  witness 
of  Roman  crimes  !  Strange !  but  when  I  look  upon  thee  I  feel 
as  if  thou  hadst  some  mystic  influence  over  my  own  fortunes. 
Beside  thee  was  I  hailed  the  republican  Lord  of  Rome  ;  beside 
i-iee  are  my  palace,  my  tribunal,  the  place  of  my  justice,  my 
triumphs,  and  my  pomp  ;  to  thee  my  eyes  turn  from  my  bed 
of  state  ;  and  if  fated  to  die  in  power  and  peace,  thou  mayest 
be  the  last  object  my  eyes  will  mark  !  Or  if  myself  a  victim — " 
he  paused,  shrank  from  the  thought  presented  to  him  ;  turned 
to  a  recess  of  the  chamber,  drew  aside  a  curtain  that  veiled  a 
crucifix  and  a  small  table,  on  which  lay  a  Bible  and  the  monas- 
tic emblems  of  the  skull  and  cross  bones — emblems,  indeed, 
grave  and  irresistible,  of  the  nothingness  of  power,  and  the 
uncertainty  of  life.  Before  these  sacred  monitors,  whether  to 
liumblc  or' to  elevate,  kneU  that  proud  and  aspiring  man,  and 


THE  LAST  OP  THE   TRIBUNES.  t^J 

when  he  rose,  it  was  with  a  lighter  step  and morecheeiCulrviieq 
than  he  had  worn  that  day. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  ACTOR  UNMASKED. 

"In  intoxication,"  says  the  proverb,  "men  betray  their  real 
characters."  There  is  a  no  less  honest  and  trutii  revealing 
intoxication  in  prosperity,  than  in  wine.  The  varnish  of 
power  brings  forth  at  once  the  defects  and  the  beauties  of  the 
human  portrait. 

The  unprecedented  and  almost  miraculous  rise  of  Rienzi 
from  the  rank  of  the  Pontiff's  official  to  the  Lord  of  Rome, 
would  have  been  accompanied  with  a  yet  greater  miracle,  if  it 
had  not  somewhat  dazzled  and  seduced  the  object  it  elevated. 
When,  as  in  well-ordered  states  and  tranquil  times,  men  rise 
slowly,  step  by  step,  they  accustom  themselves  to  their  growing 
fortunes.  But  the  leap  of  an  hour  from  a  citizen  to  a  prince — 
from  the  victim  of  oppression  to  the  dispenser  of  justice — is  a 
transition  so  sudden  as  to  render  dizzy  the  most  sober  brain. 
And,  perhaps,  in  proportion  to  the  imagination,  the  enthusiasm, 
the  genius  of  the  man,  will  the  suddenness  be  dangerous, — 
excite  too  extravagant  a  hope,  and  lead  to  too  chimerical  an  am- 
bition. The  qualities  that  made  him  rise  hurry  him  to  his  fall ; 
and  victory  at  the  Marengo  of  his  fortunes  urges  him  to  de- 
struction at  its  Moscow. 

In  his  greatness  Rienzi  did  not  so  much  acquire  new  quali- 
ties, as  develop  in  brighter  light  and  deeper  shadow  those 
which  he  had  always  exhibited.  On  the  one  hand  he  was  just, 
resolute,  the  friend  of  the  oppressed,  the  terror  of  the  op- 
pressor. His  wonderful  intellect  illumined  everything  it 
touched.  By  rooting  out  abuse,  and  by  searching  examination 
and  wise  arrangement,  he  had  trebled  the  revenues  of  the  city 
without  imposing  a  single  new  tax.  Faithful  to  his  idol  of 
liberty,  he  had  not  been  betrayed  by  the  wish  of  the  people 
into  despotic  authority ;  but  had,  as  we  have  seen,  formally 
revived,  and  established  with  new  powers,  the  Parliamentary 
Council  of  the  city.  However  extensive  his  own  authority,  he 
referred  its  exercise  to  the  people  ;  in  their  name  he  alone 
declared  himself  to  govern,  and  he  never  executed  any  signal 
action  without  submitting  to  them  its  reasons  or  its  justifica' 


298  RIEN2I, 

tion.  No  less  faithful  to  his  desire  to  restore  prosperity  as  well 
as  freedom  to  Rome,  he  had  seized  the  first  dazzling  epoch  of 
his  power  to  propose  that  great  federative  league  with  the 
Italian  States  which  would,  as  he  rightly  said,  have  raised 
Rome  to  the  indisputable  head  of  European  nations.  Under 
his  rule  trade  was  secure,  literature  was  welcome,  art  began 
to  rise. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  prosperity  which  made  more  appar- 
ent his  justice,  his  integrity,  his  patriotism,  his  virtues,  and  his 
genius,  brought  out  no  less  glaringly  his  arrogant  conscious- 
ness of  superiority,  his  love  of  display,  and  the  wild  and  daring 
insolence  of  his  ambition.  Though  too  just  to  avenge  himself 
by  retaliating  on  the  patricians  their  own  violence, — though,  in 
his  troubled  and  stormy  tribuneship,  not  one  unmerited  or 
illegal  execution  of  baron  or  citizen  could  be  alleged  against 
him,  even  by  his  enemies  ;  yet  sharing,  less  excusably,  the 
weakness  of  Nina,  he  could  not  deny  his  proud  heart  the 
pleasure  of  humiliating  those  who  had  ridiculed  him  as  a  buf- 
foon, despised  him  as  a  plebeian,  and  who,  even  now,  slaves  to 
his  face,  were  cynics  behind  his  back.  **  They  stood  before 
him  while  he  sate,"  says  his  biographer  ;  "  all  these  barons, 
bareheaded  ;  their  hands  crossed  on  their  breasts  ;  their  looks 
downcast ;  oh,  how  frightened  they  were!" — a  picture  more 
disgraceful  to  the  servile  cowardice  of  the  nobles  than  the 
haughty  sternness  of  the  Tribune.  It  might  be  that  he  deemed 
it  policy  to  break  the  spirit  of  his  foes,  and  to  awe  those  whom 
it  was  a  vain  hope  to  conciliate. 

For  his  pomp  there  was  a  greater  excuse :  it  was  the  custom 
of  the  time;  it  was  the  insignia  and  witness  of  power;  and  when 
the  modern  historian  taunts  him  with  not  imitating  the  simplic- 
ity of  an  ancient  tribune,  the  sneer  betrays  an  ignorance  of  the 
spirit  of  the  age,  and  the  vain  people  whom  the  chief  magistrate 
was  to  govern.  No  doubt  his  gorgeous  festivals,  his  solemn 
processions,  set  off  and  ennobled — if  parade  can  so  be  en- 
iiobled — by  a  refined  and  magnificent  richness  of  imagination, 
associated  always  with  popular  emblems,  and  designed  to  con- 
vey the  idea  of  rejoicing  for  Liberty  Restored,  and  to  assert 
the  state  and  majesty  of  Rome  Revived — no  doubt  these 
spectacles,  however  otherwise  judged  in  a  more  enlightened 
age  and  by  closet  sages,  served  greatly  to  augment  the  impoi- 
tance  of  the  Tribune  abroad,  and  to  dazzle  the  pride  of  a  fickle 
and  ostentatious  populace.  And  taste  grew  refined,  luxury 
called  labor  into  requisition,  and  foreigners  from  all  States  were 
attracted  by  the  splendor  of  a  court  over  which  presided,  undei: 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  I99 

republican  names,  two  covereigns,*  young  and  brilliant,  the  one 
renowned  for  his  genius,  the  other  eminent  for  her  beauty.  It 
was,  indeed,  a  dazzling  and  royal  dream  in  the  long  night  of 
Rome,  spoiled  of  her  Pontiff  and  his  voluptuous  train — that 
holyday  reign  of  Cola  di  Rienzi !  And  often  afterwards  it  was 
recalled  with  a  sigh,  not  only  by  the  poor  for  its  justice,  the 
merchant  for  its  security,  but  the  gallant  for  its  splendor,  and 
the  poet  for  its  ideal  and  intellectual  grace  ! 

As  if  to  show  that  it  was  not  to  gratify  the  more  vulgar  ap- 
petite and  desire,  in  the  midst  of  all  his  pomp,  when  the  board  - 
groaned  with  the  delicacies  of  every  clime,  when  the  wine  most  » 
freely  circled,  the  Tribune  himself  preserved  a  temperate  and 
even  rigid  abstinence. f  While  the  apartments  of  state  and  the 
chamber  of  his  bride  were  adorned  with  a  profuse  luxury  and 
cost,  to  his  own  private  rooms  he  transported  precisely  the  same 
furniture  which  had  been  familiar  to  him  in  his  obscurer  life. 
The  books,  the  busts,  the  reliefs,  the  arms  which  had  inspired 
him  heretofore  with  the  visions  of  the  past,  were  endeared  by 
associations  which  he  did  not  care  to  forego. 

But  that  which  constituted  the  most  singular  feature  of  his 
character,  and  which  still  wraps  all  around  him  in  a  certain 
mystery,  was  his  religious  enthusiasm.  The  daring  but  wild 
doctrines  of  Arnold  of  Brescia,  who,  two  centuries  anterior,  had 
preached  reform,  but  inculcated  mysticism,  still  lingered  in 
Rome,  and  had  in  earlier  youth  deeply  colored  the  mind  of 
Rienzi  °  and  as  I  have  before  observed,  his  youthful  propensity 
to  dreamy  thought,  the  melancholy  death  of  his  brother,  his 
own  various  but  successful  fortunes,  had  all  contributed  to 
nurse  the  more  zealous  and  solemn  aspirations  of  this  remark- 
able man.  Like  Arnold  of  Brescia,  his  faith  bore  a  strong  re- 
semblance to  the  intense  fanaticism  of  our  own  Puritans  of  the 
Civil  War,  as  if  similar  political  circumstances  conduced  to 
similar  religious  sentiments.  He  believed  himself  inspired  by 
awful  and  mighty  commune  with  beings  of  the  better  world  J 
Saints  and  angels  ministered  to  his  dreams;  and  without  this, 
the  more  profound  and  hallowed  enthusiasm,  he  might  never 
have  been  sufficiently  emboldened  by  mere  human  patriotism, 

*  Rienzi,  speaking  in  one  of  his  letters  of  his  great  enterprise,  refers  it  to  the  ardor  of 
youth.  The  exact  date  of  his  birth  is  unknown  ;  but  he  was  certauilj  a  young  man  at  the 
time  now  referred  to.  His  portrait  in  the  iMuseo  Harbanno.  from  which  his  description 
has  been  already  taken  in  the  first  book  of  this  work,  represents  him  as  beardless,  and,  as 
far  as  one  can  judge,  somewhere  above  thirty— old  enoujih,  to  be  sure,  to  ha\e  a  beard; 
and  seven  years  afterwanis  he  wore  a  long  one,  which  jire.iily  displeased  his  naiTc  biogra- 
pher, who  seems  to  consider  it  a  sort  of  crime.  '1  he  head  is  very  remarkable  for  its  stern 
beauty,  and  liule,  if  at  all,  interior  to  that  of  Najioi'^on  ;  to  which,  as  I  have  before  re- 
marked, it  has  some  resemljlance  m  expression,  it  not  in  feature. 

I  Vit^  dJ  Cola  di  Kier)?i  —  i  he  biographer  praises  the  ^bstipepce  of  the  Tribune* 


200  RIENZI, 

to  his  unprecedented  enterprise  :  it  was   the  secret  of  much  of 

his  greatness,  many  of  his  errors.  Like  all  men  who  are  thus 
self-deluded  by  a  vain  but  not  inglorious  superstition,  united 
with,  and  colored  by,  earthly  ambition,  it  is  impossible  to  say 
how  far  he  was  the  visionary,  and  how  far  at  times  he  dared  to 
be  the  impostor.  In  the  ceremonies  of  his  pageants,  in  the 
ornaments  of  his  person,  were  invariably  introduced  mystic 
and  figurative  emblems.  In  times  of  danger  he  publicly 
professed  to  have  been  cheered  and  directed  by  divine 
d^-eams ;  and  on  many  occasions  the  prophetic  warnings 
announced  having  been  singularly  verified  by  the 
event,  his  influence  with  the  people  was  strengthened  by 
a  belief  in  the  favor  and  intercourse  of  Heaven.  Thus,  delu- 
sion of  self  might  tempt  and  conduce  to  imposition  on 
others,  and  he  might  not  scruple  to  avail  himself  of  the 
advantage  of  seeming  what  he  believed  himself  to  be. 
Yet,  no  doubt  this  intoxicating  credulity  pushed  him 
into  extravagance  unworthy  of,  and  strangely  contrasted  by, 
his  soberer  intellect,  and  made  him  disproportion  his  vast  ends 
to  his  unsteady  means,  by  the  proud  fallacy,  that  where  man 
failed,  God  would  interpose.  Cola  di  Rienzi  was  no  faultless 
hero  of  romance.  In  him  lay,  in  conflicting  prodigality,  the 
richest  and  most  opposite  elements  of  character  :  strong  sense, 
visionary  superstition,  an  eloquence  and  energy  that  mastered 
all  he  approached,  a  blind  enthusiasm  that  mastered  himself; 
luxury  and  abstinence,  sternness  and  susceptibility,  pride  to 
the  great,  humility  to  the  low  ;  the  most  devoted  patriotism 
and  the  most  avid  desire  of  personal  power.  As  few  men  un- 
dertake great  and  desperate  designs  without  strong  animal 
'virits,  so  it  may  be  observed,  that  with  most  who  have  risen 
to  eminence  over  the  herd  there  is  an  aptness,  at  times,  to  a 
wild  mirth  and  an  elasticity  of  humor  which  often  astonish  the 
more  sober  and  regulated  minds,  that  are  "  the  commoners  of 
life";  and  the  theatrical  grandeur  of  Napoleon,  the  severe 
dignity  of  Cromwell,  are  strangely  contrasted  by  a  frequent, 
nor  always  seasonable  buffoonery,  which  it  is  hard  to  reconcile 
with  the  ideal  of  their  character  or  the  gloomy  and  porten- 
tous interest  of  their  careers.  And  this,  equally  a  trait  in  the 
temperament  of  Rienzi,  distinguished  his  hours  of  relaxation, 
and  contributed  to  that  marvellous  versatility  with  which  his 
harder  nature  accommodated  itself  to  all  humors  and  all  men. 
Often  from  his  austere  judgment-seat  he  passed  to  the  social 
board  an  altered  man  ;  and  even  the  sullen  barons,  who  reluc- 
tantly attended  his  feasts,  forgot  his  public  greatness  in  bis  f^- 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  20I 

miliar  wit  ;  albeit  this  reckless  humor  could  not  always  refrain 
from  seeking  its  subject  in  the  mortification  of  his  crestfallen 
foes — a  pleasure  it  would  have  been  wiser  and  more  generaus 
to  forego.  And  perhaps  it  was,  in  part,  the  prompting  of  this 
sarcastic  and  unbridled  humor  that  made  him  often  love  to 
astonish  as  well  as  to  awe.  But  even  this  gaiety,  if  so  it  may 
be  called,  taking  an  appearance  of  familiar  frankness,  served 
much  to  ingratiate  him  with  the  lower  orders,  and,  if  a  fault  in 
the  prince,  was  a  virtue  in  the  demagogue. 

To  these  various  characteristics,  now  fully  developed,  the 
eader  must  add  a  genius  of  designs  so  bold,  of  conceptions  so 
gigantic  and  august,  conjoined  with  that  more  minute  and  ordi- 
nary ability  which  masters  details  ;  that  with  a  brave,  noble, 
intelligent,  devoted  people  to  back  his  projects,  the  accession 
of  the  Tribune  would  have  been  the  close  of  the  thraldom  of 
Italy,  and  the  abrupt  limit  of  the  dark  age  of  Europe.  With 
such  a  people,  his  faults  would  have  been  insensibly  checked, 
his  more  unwholesome  power  have  received  a  sufficient  curb. 
Experience  familiarizing  him  with  power,  would  have  gradually 
weaned  him  from  extravagance  in  its  display ;  and  the  active 
and  masculine  energy  of  his  intellect  would  have  found  field 
for  the  more  restless  spirits,  as  his  justice  gave  shelter  to  the 
more  tranquil.  Faults  he  had,  but  whether  those  faults,  or 
the  faults  of  the  people,  were  to  prepare  his  downfall,  is  yet  to 
be  seen. 

Meanwhile,  amidst  a  discontented  nobility  and  a  fickle  pop- 
ulace, urged  on  by  the  danger  of  repose  to  the  danger  of  en- 
terprise ;  partly  blinded  by  his  outward  power,  partly  impelled 
by  the  fear  of  internal  weakness  ;  at  once  made  sanguine  by 
his  genius  and  his  fanaticism,  and  uneasy  by  the  expecta- 
tions of  the  crowd,  he  threw  himself  headlong  into  the  gulf  of 
the  rushing  Tirae,  and  surrendered  his  lofty  spirit  to  no  other 
guidance  than  a  conviction  of  its  natural  buoyancy  and  its 
heaven-directed  haven. 


?0?  RIENZI, 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   enemy's   camp. 

While  Rienzi  was  preparing,  in  concert,  perhaps,  with  the 
ambassadors  of  the  brave  Tuscan  States,  whose  pride  of 
country  and  love  of  liberty  were  well  fitted  to  comprehend,  and 
even  share  them,  his  schemes  for  the  emancipation  from  all 
foreign  yoke  of  the  Ancient  Queen,  and  the  Everlasting  Gar- 
den, of  the  World  ;  the  Barons,  in  restless  secrecy,  were  revolv- 
ing projects  for  the  restoration  of  their  own  power. 

One  morning  the  heads  of  the  Savelli,  the  Orsini,  and  the 
Frangipani,  met  at  the  disfortified  palace  of  Stephen  Colonna. 
Their  conference  was  long  and  earnest — now  resolute,  now 
wavering  in  its  object — as  indignation  or  fear  prevailed. 

*'  You  have  heard,"  said  Luca  di  Savelli,  in  his  usual  soft  and 
womanly  voice,  "  that  the  Tribune  has  proclaimed  that,  the 
day  after  to-morrow,  he  will  take  the  order  of  knighthood,  and 
watch  the  night  before  in  the  Church  of  the  Lateran  :  he  has 
honored  me  with  a  request  to  attend  his  vigil." 

"  Yes,  yes,  the  knave.  What  means  this  new  fantasy  .^"  said 
the  brutal  Prince  of  the  Orsini. 

"  Unless  it  be  to  have  the  cavalier's  right  to  challenge  a 
noble,"  said  old  Colonna,  "  I  cannot  conjecture.  Will  Rome 
never  grow  weary  of  this  madman  .''" 

"  Rome  is  the  more  mad  of  the  two,"  said  Luca  di  Savelli ; 
*'but  methinks,  in  his  wildness,  the  Tribune  hath  committed  one 
error  of  which  we  may  well  avail  ourselves  at  Avignon." 

"Ah,"  cried  the  old  Colonna,  "that  must  be  our  game; 
oassive  here,  let  us  fight  at  Avignon." 

**  In  a  word,  then,  he  hath  ordered  that  his  bath  shall  be  pre- 
*Dared  in  the  holy  porphyry  vase  in  which  once  bathed  the 
Emperor  Constantine." 

"  Profanation  !  profanation  ! "  cried  Stephen.  "  This  is 
enough  to  excuse  a  bull  of  excommunication.  The  Pope  shall 
hear  of  it.     I  will  despatch  a  courier  forthwith." 

"  Better  wait  and  see  the  ceremony,"  said  the  Savelli ;  "some 
greater  folly  will  close  the  pomp,  be  assured." 

"  Hark  ye,  my  masters,"  said  the  grim  Lord  of  the  Orsini ; 
'*  ye  are  for  delay  and  caution  ;  I  for  promptness  and  daring ; 
my  kinsman's  blood  calls  aloud,  and  brooks  no  parley." 

"And  what  do?"  said  the  soft-voiced  Savelli  ;  "fight  without 
soldiers, against  twenty  thousi^nd  infuriated  Romans?     NotI»" 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  203 

Orsini  sunk  his  voice  into  a  meaning  whisper.  "In  Venice,** 
said  he,  "  this  upstart  might  be  mastered  without  an  army. 
Think  you  in  Rome  no  man  wears  a  stiletto  ? " 

"  Hush,"  said  Stephen,  who  was  of  far  nobler  and  better 
nature  than  his  compeers,  and  who,  justifying  to  himself  all 
other  resistance  to  the  Tribune,  felt  his  conscience  rise  against 
assassination  ;  "  this  must  not  be  ;  your  zeal  transports  you." 

*'  Besides,  whom  can  we  employ  ?  scarce  a  German  left  in 
the  city  ;  and  to  whisper  this  to  a  Roman  were  to  exchange 
places  with  poor  Martino — Heaven  take  him,  for  he's  nearer 
heaven  than  ever  he  was  before,"  said  the  Savelli. 

"  Jest  me  no  jests,"  cried  the  Orsini  fiercely.  ''Jests  on  such 
(^subject  !  By  St.  Francis  !  I  would,  since  thou  lovest  such  wit, 
dlOu  hadst  it  all  to  thyself  ;  and  methinks  at  the  Tribune's 
board  I  have  seen  thee  laugh  at  his  rude  humor,  as  if  thou 
didst  not  require  a  cord  to  choke  thee." 

"  Better  to  laugh  than  to  tremble,"  returned  the  Savelli. 

*'  How  !  darest  thou  say  I  tremble  ?"  cried  the  baron. 

"  Hush,  hush,"  said  the  veteran  Colonna,  with  impatient 
dignity.  "We  are  not  now  in  such  holiday  times  as  to  quarrel 
amongst  ourselves.     Forbear,  my  lords." 

"Your  greater  prudence,  Signor,"  said  the  sarcastic  Savelli, 
*'  arises  from  your  greater  safety.  Your  house  is  about  tc 
shelter  itself  under  the  Tribune's  ;  and,  when  the  Lord  Adrian 
returns  from  Naples,  the  innkeeper's  son  will  be  brother  to 
your  kinsman." 

"You  might  spare  me  that  taunt,"  said  the  old  noble  with 
some  emotion.  "  Heaven  knows  how  bitterly  I  have  chafed 
at  the  thought  ;  yet  I  would  Adrian  were  with  us.  His  word 
goes  far  to  moderate  the  Tribune,  and  to  guide  my  own  course, 
for  my  passion  beguiles  my  reason  ;  and  since  his  departure 
methinks  we  have  been  the  more  sullen  without  being  the 
more  strong.  Let  this  pass.  If  my  own  son  had  wed  the 
Tribune's  sister,  I  would  yet  strike  a  blow  for  the  old  consti- 
Aition  as  becomes  a  noble,  if  I  but  saw  that  the  blow  would 
-)0t  Ctlt  off  my  own  head." 

Savelli,  who  had  been  whispering  apart  with  Rinaldo  Fran- 
^ipani,  now  said  : 

"  Noble  Prince,  listen  to  me.  You  are  bound  by  your  kins- 
man's approaching  connection,  your  venerable  age,  and  your 
intimacy  with  the  Pontiff,  to  a  greater  caution  than  we  are. 
Leave  to  us  the  management  of  the  enterprise,  and  be  assured 
of  our  discretion," 

A  young  boy,  Stefanello,  who  afterwards  succeeded  to  tho 


204  RIENZI, 

representation  of  the  direct  line  of  the  Colonna,  and  whom  the 
reader  will  once  again  encounter  ere  our  tale  be  closed,  was 
playing  by  his  grandsire's  knees.  He  looked  sharply  up  at 
Savelli,  and  said,  *'  My  grandfather  is  too  wise,  and  you  are  too 
timid.  Frangipani  is  too  yielding,  and  Orsini  is  too  like  a 
vexed  bull.     I  wish  I  were  a  year  or  two  older." 

"  And  what  would  you  do,  my  pretty  censurer  ?  "  said  the 
smooth  Savelli,  biting  his  smiling  lip. 

"  Stab  the  Tribune  with  my  own  stiletto,  and  then  hey  for 
Palestrina !  " 

"  The  egg  will  hatch  a  brave  serpent,"  quoth  the  Savelli 
"Yet  why  so  bitter  against  the  Tribune,  my  cockatrice?" 

"Because  he  allowed  an  insolent  mercer  to  arrest  my  uncle 
Agapet  for  debt.  The  debt  had  been  owed  these  ten  years  ; 
and  though  it  is  said  that  no  house  in  Rome  has  ov/ed  more 
money  than  the  Colonna,  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  of 
a  rascally  creditor  being  allowed  to  claim  his  debt  unless  with 
doffed  cap  and  bended  knee.  And  I  say  that  I  would  not 
live  to  be  a  baron,  if  such  upstart  insolence  is  to  be  put 
upon  me." 

"  My  child,"  said  old  Stephen,  laughing  heartily,  "  I  see  our 
noble  order  will  be  safe  enough  in  your  hands." 

"  And,"  continued  the  child,  emboldened  by  the  applause  he 
received,  "  if  I  had  time  after  pricking  the  Tribune,  I  would 
fain  have  a  second  stroke  at — " 

"  Whom  ?  "  said  the  Savelli,  observing  the  boy  pause, 

*'My  cousin  Adrian.  Shame  on  him,  for  dreaming  to  make 
one  a  wife  whose  birth  would  scarce  fit  her  for  a  Colonna's 
leman !  " 

"  Go  play,  my  child,  go  play,"  said  the  old  Colonna,  as  he 
pushed  the  boy  from  him. 

"Enough  of  this  babble,"  cried  the  Orsini  rudely.  "Tell 
me,  old  lord  ;  just  as  I  entered  I  saw  an  old  friend  (one  of 
your  former  mercenaries)  quit  the  palace  ;  may  I  crave  his 
errand  ? " 

"  Ah  yes  ;  a  messenger  from  Fra  Moreale.  I  wrote  to  the 
knight,  reproving  him  for  liis  desertion  on  our  ill-starred  return 
from  Corneto,  and  intimating  that  five  hundred  lances  would 
be  highly  paid  for  just  now." 

"Ah,"  said  Savelli;  "and  what  is  his  answer?" 

"  Oh,  wily  and  evasive  :  he  is  profuse  in  compliments  and 
good  wishes ;  but  says  he  is  under  fealty  to  the  Hungarian 
king,  whose  cause  is  before  Rienzi's  tribunal ;  that  he  cannot 
desert  his  present  standard  ;  that  he  fears  Rome  is  so  evenl^f 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  20^ 

balanced  between  patricians  and  the  people  that  whatever 
party  would  permanently  be  uppermost  must  call  in  a  Podesta  ; 
and  this  character  alone  the  Proven9al  insinuates  would 
suit  him." 

''  Montreal  our  Podesta  ?  "  cried  the  Orsini. 

"And  why  not  ?  "  said  Savelli  ;  "  as  good  a  well-born  Podesta 
as  a  low-born  Tribune  ?  But  I  trust  we  may  do  without  either. 
Colonna,  has  this  messenger  from  Fra  Moreale  left  the  city  ?  " 

''I  suppose  so." 

"  No,"  said  Orsini  ;  "  I  met  him  at  the  gate,  and  knew  him 
of  old  :  it  is  Rodolf,  the  Saxon  (once  a  hireling  of  the  Colonna), 
who  has  made  some  widows  among  my  clients  in  the  good  old 
day.  He  is  a  little  disguised  now ;  however,  I  recognized 
and  accosted  him,  for  I  thought  he  was  one  who  might  yet 
become  a  friend,  and  I  bade  him  await  me  at  my  palace." 

''  You  did  well,"  said  the  Savelli,  musing,  and  his  eyes  met 
those  of  Orsini.  Shortly  afterwards  a  conference,  in  which 
much  was  said  and  nothing  settled,  was  broken  up  ;  but  Luca 
di  Savelli,  loitering  at  the  porch,  prayed  the  Frangipani  and 
the  other  barons  to  adjourn  to  the  Orsini's  palace. 

*' The  old  Colonna,"  said  he,  "  is  well-nigh  in  his  dotage. 
We  sliall  come  to  a  quick  determination  without  him,  and  we 
can  secure  his  proxy  in  his  son." 

And  this  was  a  true  prophecy,  for  half  an  hour's  consulta- 
tion with  Rodolf  of  Saxony  sufficed  to  ripen  thought  into 
enterprise. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   NIGHT   AND  ITS  INCIDENTS. 

With  the  following  twilight  Rome  was  summoned  to  the 
commencement  of  the  most  magnificent  spectacle  the  Imperial 
City  had  witnessed  since  the  fall  of  the  Caesars.  It  had  been 
a  singular  privilege,  arrogated  by  the  people  of  Rome,  to 
confer  upon  their  citizens  the  order  of  knighthood.  Twenty 
years  before  a  Colonna  and  an  Orsini  had  received  this  popu- 
lar honor.  Rienzi,  who  designed  it  as  the  prelude  to  a  more 
important  ceremony,  claimed  from  the  Romans  a  similar  dis- 
tinction. From  the  Capitol  to  the  Lateran  swept,  in  long 
precession,  all  that  Rome  boasted  of  noble,  of  fair,  and  brave. 
First  went  horsemen  without  number,  and  from  all  the  neigh- 
boring parts  of  Jtaly,  in  apparel  that  well  befitted  the  occasion. 


|06  RIENZI, 

•Trumpeter?,  and  musicians  of  all  kinds,  followed,  and  the 
trumpets  were  of  silver ;  youths  bearing  the  harness  of  the 
knightly  war-steed,  wrought  with  gold,  preceded  the  march  of 
the  loftiest  matronage  of  Rome,  whose  love  for  show,  and  it 
may  be  whose  admiration  for  triumphant  fame  (which  to 
women  sanctions  many  offences),  made  them  forget  the 
humbled  greatness  of  their  lords;  amidst  them  Nina  and 
Irene,  outshining  all  the  rest ;  then  came  the  Tribune  and  the 
Pontiff's  Vicar,  surrounded  by  all  the  great  signors  of  the  city, 
smothering  alike  resentment,  revenge,  and  scorn,  and  struggling 
who  should  approach  nearest  to  the  monarch  of  the  day.  The 
high-hearted  old  Colonna  alone  remained  aloof,  following  at  a 
little  distance,  and  in  a  garb  studiously  plain.  But  his  age,  his 
rank,  his  former  renown  in  war  and  state,  did  not  suffice  to 
draw  to  his  gray  locks  and  high-born  mien  a  single  one  of  the 
shouts  that  attended  the  meanest  lord  on  whom  the  great  Trib- 
une smiled.  Savelli  followed  nearest  to  Rienzi,  the  most  ob- 
sequious of  the  courtly  band  ;  immediately  before  the  Tribune 
came  two  men  ;  the  one  bore  a  drawn  sword,  the  other  the 
pendoney  or  standard  usually  assigned  to  royalty.  The  Trib- 
une himself  was  clothed  in  a  long  robe  of  white  satin,  whose 
snowy  dazzle  {niiricandoris)  is  peculiarly  dwelt  on  by  the  his- 
torian, richly  decorated  with  gold  ;  while  on  his  breast  were 
many  of  those  mystic  symbols  I  have  before  alluded  to,  the 
exact  meaning  of  which  was  perhaps  known  only  to  the  wearer. 
In  his  dark  eye,  and  on  that  large,  tranquil  brow,  in  which 
thought  seemed  to  sleep,  as  sleeps  a  storm,  there  might  be  de- 
tected a  mind  abstracted  from  the  pomp  around  ;  but  ever  and 
anon  he  roused  himself  and  conversed  partially  with  Raimond 
or  Savelli. 

"This  is  a  quaint  game,"  said  the  Orsini,  falling  back  to  the 
old  Colonna  :  "but  it  may  end  tragically." 

"Methinks  it  may,"  said  the  old  man,  "if  the  Tribune  over- 
hear thee." 

Orsini  grew  pale.  "  How — nay — nay,  even  if  he  did,  he 
never  resents  words,  but  professes  to  laugh  at  our  spoken  rage. 
It  was  but  the  other  day  that  some  knave  told  him  what  one  of 
the  Annibaldi  said  of  him — words  for  which  a  true  cavalier 
would  have  drawn  the  speaker's  life's  blood  ;  and  he  sent  for 
the  Annibaldi,  and  said,  'My  friend,  receive  this  purse  of 
gold — court  wits  should  be  paid.'" 

"Did  Annibaldi  take  the  gold.?" 

"Why,  no;  the  Tribune  was  pleased  with  his  spirit,  and 
made  him  sup  with  Itim^  «D<1  Annibaldi  says  he  never  spent  « 


THE    LAST    OF    THE     TRIBUNES.  207 

merrier  evening,  and  no  longer  wonders  that  his  kinsman,  Ric- 
cardo,  loves  the  buffoon  so." 

Arrived  now  at  the  Lateran,  Liica  di  Savelli  fell  also  back, 
and  whispered  to  Orsini  ;  the  Frangipani,  and  some  other  ot 
the  nobles  exchanged  meaning  looks  ;  Rienzi,  entering  the 
sacred  edifice,  in  which,  according  to  custom,  he  was  to  pass 
the  night  watching  his  armor,  bade  the  crowd  farewell,  and 
summoned  them  the  next  morning,  "  To  hear  things  that  might, 
he  trusted,  be  acceptable  to  heaven  and  earth." 

The  immense  multitude  received  this  intimation  with  curios- 
ity and  gladness,  while  those  who  had  been  in  some  measure 
prepared  by  Cecco  del  Vecchio  hailed  it  as  an  omen  of  their 
Tribune's  unflagging  resolution.  The  concourse  dispersed 
with  singular  order  and  quietness ;  it  was  recorded  as  a  re- 
markable fact,  that  in  so  great  a  crowd,  composed  of  men  of 
all  parties,  none  exhibited  license  or  indulged  in  quarrel. 
Some  of  the  barons  and  cavaliers,'  among  whom  was  Luca  di 
Savelli,  whose  sleek  urbanity  and  sarcastic  humor  found  favor 
with  the  Tribune,  and  a  few  subordinate  pages  and  attendants, 
alone  remained  ;  and  save  a  single  sentinel  at  the  porch,  that 
broad  space  before  the  Palace,  the  Basilica  and  Fount  of  Constan- 
tine,  soon  presented  a  silent  and  desolate  void  to  the  melan- 
choly moonlight.  Within  the  church,  according  to  the  usage 
of  the  time  and  rite,  the  descendant  of  the  Teuton  kings 
received  the  order  of  the  Santo  Spirito.  His  pride,  or  some 
superstition  equally  weak,  though  more  excusable,  led  him  to 
bathe  in  the  porphyry  vase,  which  an  absurd  legend  consecrated 
to  Constantine  ;  and  this,  as  Savelli  predicted,  cost  him  deaj". 
These  appointed  ceremonies  concluded,  his  arms  were  placed 
in  that  part  of  the  church  within  the  columns  of  St.  John. 
And  here  his  state  bed  was  prepared.* 

The  attendant  barons,  pages,  and  chamberlains  retired  out 
of  sight  to  a  small  side  chapel  in  the  edifice  ;  and  Rienzi  was 
left  alone.  A  single  lamp,  placed  beside  his  bed,  contended 
with  the  mournful  rays  of  the  moon  that  cast  through  the  long 
casements,  over  aisle  and  pillar,  "  its  dim  religious  light."  The 
sanctity  of  the  place,  the  solemnity  of  the  hour,  and  the  soli- 
tary silence  round,  were  well  calculated  to  deepen  the  high- 
wrought  and  earnest  mood  of  that  son  of  fortune.  Many  and 
high  fancies  swept  over  his  mind — now  of  worldly  aspirations, 
now  of  more  august  but  visionary  belief,  till  at  length,  wearied 

*  In  a  more  northern  country,  the  eve  of  knighthood  would  "have  been  spent  without 
sleeping.  In  Italy,  the  ceremony  of  watching  the  armor  does  not  appear  to  nave  been  s9 
tigidly  observed. 


208  RIENfl, 

with  his  own  reflections,  he  cast  himself  on  the  bed.  Tt  was  att 
omen  which  grave  history  has  not  neglected  to  record,  that  the 
moment  he  pressed  the  bed,  new  prepared  for  the  occasion,  part 
of  it  sank  under  him  :  he  himself  was  affected  by  the  accident 
and  sprung  forth,  turning  pale  and  muttering  ;  but,  as  if 
ashamed  of  his  weakness,  after  a  moment's  pause,  again 
composed  himself  to  rest,  and  drew  the  drapery  round  him. 

The  moonbeams  grew  fainter  and  more  faint  as  the  time 
proceeded,  and  the  sharp  distinction  between  light  and  shade 
faded  fast  from  the  marble  floor ;  when  from  beliind  a  column 
at  the  furthest  verge  of  the  building,  a  strange  shadow  suddenly 
crossed  the  sickly  light  ;  it  crept  on — it  moved,  but  without  an 
echo, — from  pillar  to  pillar  it  flitted — it  rested  at  last  behind 
the  column  nearest  to  the  Tribune's  bed — it  remained  sta- 
tionary. 

The  shades  gathered  darker  and  darker  round  ;  the  stillness 
seemed  to  deepen  ;  the  moon  was  gone  i  and,  save  from  the 
struggling  ray  of  the  lamp  beside  Rienzi,  the  blackness  of  night 
closed  over  the  solemn  and  ghostly  scene. 

In  one  of  the  side  chapels,  as  I  have  before  said,  which, 
in  the  many  alterations  the  church  has  undergone,  is  probably 
long  since  destroyed,  were  Savelli  and  the  few  attendants 
retained  by  the  Tribune.  Savelli  alone  slept  not  ;  he  remained 
sitting  erect,  breathing  and  listening,  while  the  tall  lights  in  the 
chapel  rendered  yet  more  impressive  the  rapid  changes  of  his 
countenance. 

"Now  pray  Heaven,"  said  he,  "the  knave  miscarry  not! 
Such  an  occasion  may  never  again  occur !  He  ha?  a  strong 
arm  and  a  dexterous  hand,  doubtless  ;  but  the  other  is  a  power- 
ful man.  The  deed  once  done,  I  care  not  whether  the  doet 
escape  or  not  ;  if  not,  why  we  must  stab  him  !  Dead  men  tell 
no  tales.  At  the  worst,  who  can  avenge  Rienzi  ?  There  is  no 
other  Rienzi !  Ourselves  and  the  Frangipani  seize  the  Aven- 
tine,  the  Colonna  and  the  Orsini  the  other  quarters  of  the  city  ; 
and  without  the  master  spirit,  we  may  laugh  at  the  mad  popu- 
lace. But  if  discovered — "  and  Savelli,  who,  fortunately  for 
his  foes,  had  not  nerves  equal  to  his  will,  covered  his  face  and 
shuddered — "I  think  I  hear  a  noise!  no — is  it  the  wind? 
Tush,  it  must  be  old  Vico  di  Scotto,  turning  in  his  shell  of 
mail  ! — silent — I  like  not  that  silence  !  No  cry — no  sound  ! 
Can  the  ruflian  have  played  us  false  ?  or  could  he  not  scale 
the  casement  ?  It  is  but  a  child's  effort  ;  or  did  the  sentry 
spy  him?" 

Time  passed  on  ;  the  first  ray  of  daylight  slowly  gleamed^ 


THE   LAST   OF   THE    TRIBUNES.  20$ 

when  he  thought  he  heard  the  door  of  the  church  close. 
Savelli's  suspense  became  intolerable  :  he  stole  from  the 
chapel,  and  came  in  sight  of  the  Tribune's  bed — all  was 
silent. 

"  Perhaps  the  silence  of  death,"  said  Savelli,  as  he  crept  back. 

Meanwhile  the  Tribune,  vamly  endeavoring  to  close  his  eyes, 
was  rendered  yet  more  watchful  by  the  uneasy  position  he  was 
obliged  to  assume  ;  for  the  part  of  the  bed  towards  the  pillow 
having  given  way,  while  the  rest  remained  solid,  he  had  in- 
verted the  legitimate  order  of  lying,  and  drawn  himself  up  as 
he  might  best  accommodate  his  limbs,  towards  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  The  light  of  the  lamp,  though  shaded  by  the  draperies, 
was  thus  opposite  to  him.  Impatient  of  his  wakefulness,  he  at 
last  thought  it  was  this  dull  and  flickering  light  which  scared 
away  the  slumber,  and  was  about  to  rise,  to  remove  it  further 
from  him,  when  he  saw  the  curtain  at  the  other  end  of  the  bed 
gently  lifted :  he  remained  quiet  and  alarmed  ;  ere  he  could 
draw  a  second  breath,  a  dark  figure  interposed  between  the  light 
and  the  bed ;  and  he  felt  that  a  stroke  was  aimed  against  that 
part  of  the  couch,  which  but  for  the  accident  that  had  seemed 
to  him  ominous,  would  have  given  his  breast  to  the  knife. 
Rienzi  waited  not  a  second  and  better-directed  blow ;  as  the 
assassin  yet  stooped,  groping  in  the  uncertain  light,  he  threw 
on  him  all  the  weight  and  power  of  his  large  and  muscular 
frame,  wrenched  the  stiletto  from  the  bravo's  hand,  and  dash- 
ing him  on  the  bed,  placed  his  knee  on  his  breast.  The  stiletto 
rose — gleamed — descended — the  murtherer  swerved  aside,  and 
it  pierced  only  his  right  arm.  The  Tribune  raised,  for  a  dead- 
lier blow,  the  revengeful  blade. 

The  assassin  thus  foiled  was  a  man  used  to  all  form  and 
shape  of  danger,  and  he  did  not  now  lose  his  presence  of 
mind. 

"  Hold  ! "  said  he  ;  if  you  kill  me,  you  will  die  yourself. 
Spare  me,  and  I  will  save  you.'* 

"  Miscreant !  " 

"  Hush  !  Not  so  loud,  or  you  will  disturb  your  attendants, 
and  some  of  them  may  do  what  I  have  failed  to  execute. 
Spare  me,  I  say,  and  I  will  reveal  that  which  were  worth  more 
than  my  Mfe  ;  but  call  not — speak  not  aloud,  I  warn  you  !" 

The  Tribune  felt  his  heart  stand  still :  in  that  lonely  place, 
afar  from  his  idolizing  people — his  devoted  guards — with  but 
loathing  barons,  or,  it  might  be,  faithless  menials,  within  call, 
might  not  the  baffled  murtherer  give  a  wholesome  warning  ?  and 
those  words  and  that  doubt  seemed  suddenly  to  reverse  theil 


210  RIENZI, 

respective  positions,  and  leave  the  conqueror  still  in  the  assaS' 
sin's  power. 

"TlioLi  thinkest  to  deceive  me,"  said  he,  Init  in  a  voice  whis- 
pered and  uncertain,  which  showed  the  rufHan  tlie  advantage 
he  had  gained  :  "  thou  wouldst  that  1  might  release  thee  with- 
out sun)moning  my  attendants,  that  thou  mightst  a  second  time 
ittempt  my  life.  ' 

"  Thou  hast  disabled  my  right  arm,  and  disarmed  me  of  my 
jnly  weiipon." 

'  How  camest  thoi^  hither?" 

"By  connivance." 

"Whence  this  attempt?" 

•'The  dictation  of  others." 

"If  1  pardon  thee—" 

"  Thou  shalt  know  all !  " 

"  Rise,"  said  the  Tribune,  releasing  his  prisoner,  but  with 
great  caution,  and  still  grasping  his  shoulder  with  one  hand, 
while  the  other  pointed  the  dagger  at  his  throat, 

"  Did  my  sentry  admit  thee  ?  There  is  but  one  entrance  to 
the  church,  methinks." 

'^  He  did  no>     follow  me,  and  I  will  tell  thee  more." 

"  Dog  !  thou  hast  accomplices  ?  " 

"  If  1  have,  thou  hast  the  knife  at  my  throat." 

"  Wouldst  thou  escape  ? " 

"  A  cannot,  or  I  would." 

Rie:izi  looked  hard,  by  the  dull  light  of  the  lamp,  at  the 
assassi  i.  His  rugged  and  coarse  countenance,  rude  garb,  and 
barbarian  speech,  seemed  to  him  proof  sufficient  that  he  was 
but  the  hireling  of  others  ;  and  it  might  be  wise  to  brave  one 
danger,  present  and  certain,  to  prevent  much  danger  future  and 
unforeseen.  Rienzi,  too,  was  armed,  strong,  active,  in  the 
orime  of  life ;  and  at  the  worst,  there  was  no  part  of  the  build- 
-ng  whence  his  voice  would  not  reach  those  within  the  chapel, — 
i  they  could  be  depended  upon. 

*'Shew  me  then  thy  place  and  means  of  entrance,"  said  he; 
'and  if  I  but  suspect  thee  as  we  move,  thou  diest.  Take  up  the 
lamp." 

The  ruffian  nodded  ;  with  his  left  hand  he  took  up  the  lamp 
as  he  was  ordered  ;  and  with  Rienzi's  grasp  on  his  shoulder, 
while  the  wound  from  his  right  arm  dropped  gore  as  he  passed, 
he  moved  noiselessly  along  the  church — gained  the  altar — to 
the  left  of  which  was  a  small  room  for  the  use  or  retirement  of 
the  priest.  To  this  he  made  his  way.  Rienzi's  heart  misgave 
him  a  moment 


THE    LAST    OP    THE    TRIBUNES.  2H 

"  Beware,"  he  whispered,  "  the  least  sign  of  fraud,  and  thou 
art  the  first  victim  !  " 

The  assassin  nodded  again,  and  proceeded.  They  entered 
the  room  ;  and  then  the  Tribune's  strange  guide  pointed  to  an 
open  casement.  "  Behold  my  entrance,"  said  he  ;  '*  and,  if 
you  permit  me,  my  egress — " 

"  The  frog  gets  not  out  of  the  well  so  easily  as  he  came  in, 
friend,"  returned  Rienzi,  smiling.  "  And  now,  if  I  am  not  to 
call  my  guards,  what  am  I  to  do  with  thee  ?" 

"  Let  me  go,  and  I  will  seek  thee  to-morrow ;  and  if  thou 
payest  me  handsomely,  and  promisest  not  to  harm  limb 
or  life,  I  will  put  thine  enemies  and  my  employers  in  thy 
povver." 

Rienzi  could  not  refrain  from  a  slight  laugh  at  the  proposi- 
tion, but  composing  himself  replied  :  "And  what  if  I  call  my 
attendants,  and  give  thee  to  their  charge  ?" 

"  Thou  givest  me  to  those  very  enemies  and  employers  ;  and 
in  despair  lest  I  betray  them,  ere  the  day  dawn,  they  cut  my 
throat — or  thine." 

"  Methinks,  knave,  I  have  seen  thee  before." 

*' Thou  hast.  I  blush  not  for  name  or  country.  I  am  Ro- 
dolf  of  Saxony!" 

'*  I  remember  me — servitor  of  Walter  de  Montreal.  He, 
then,  is  thy  instigator  !  " 

"  Roman,  no  !  That  noble  knight  scorns  other  weapon  than 
the  open  sword,  and  his  own  hand  slays  his  own  foes.  Your 
pitiful,  miserable,  dastard  Italians  alone  employ  the  courage, 
and  hire  the  arm,  of  others." 

Rienzi  remained  silent.  He  had  released  hold  of  his  pris- 
oner, and  stood  facing  him,  every  now  and  then  regarding 
his  countenance  and  again  relapsing  into  thought.  At  length, 
casting  his  eyes  round  the  small  chamber  thus  singularly  ten- 
anted, he  observed  a  kind  of  closet,  in  which  the  priest's  robes, 
and  some  articles  used  in  the  sacred  service,  were  contained. 
It  suggested  at  once  an  escape  from  his  dilemma  :  he  pointed 
to  it : 

"There,  Rodolf  of  Saxony,  shalt  thou  pass  some  part  of  this 
night — a  small  penance  for  thy  meditated  crime  ;  and  to-mor- 
row, as  thou  lookest  for  life,  thou  wilt  reveal  all." 

**Hark  ye.  Tribune,"  returned  the  Saxon  doggedly;  "my 
liberty  is  in  your  power,  but  neither  my  tongue  nor  my  life. 
If  I  consent  to  be  caged  in  that  hole,  you  must  swear  on  the 
crossed  hilt  of  the  dagger  that  you  now  hold,  that,  on  confes- 
sion of  aii  i  know,  you  pardon  and  set  me  free,    ^ly  empla>-?f« 


212  RTENZI, 

are  enough  to  glut  your  rage  an*  you  were  a  tiger.     If  you  do 
not  swear  this — " 

*'  Ah,  my  modest  friend  !  the  alternative  ? 

**  I  brain  myself  against  the  stone  wall  !  Better  such  a 
death  than  the  rack  ! " 

**  Fool,  I  want  not  revenge  against  such  as  thou.  Be  honest, 
and  I  swear  that,  twelve  hours  after  thy  confession,  thou  shalt 
,  tand  safe  and  unscathed  without  the  walls  of  Rome.  So  help 
me  our  Lord  and  his  saints." 

**  I  am  content !"  Donner  und  Bagel,  I  have  lived  long 
enough  to  care  only  for  my  own  life,  and  the  great  captain's 
next  to  it  ;  for  the  rest,  I  reck  not  if  ye  Southerns  cut  each 
other's  throats,  and  make  all  Italy  one  grave." 

With  this  benevolent  speech,  Rodolf  entered  the  closet  ,  but 
ere  Rienzi  could  close  the  door,  he  stepped  forth  again  : 

"  Hold,"  said  he  ;  "this  blood  flows  fast.  Help  me  to  band- 
age it,  or  I  shall  bleed  to  death  ere  my  confession." 

'' Per  fede,'*  sdAd.  the  Tribune,  his  strange  humor  enjoying 
the  man's  cool  audacity  ;  **  but,  considering  the  service  thou 
wouldst  have  rendered  me,  thou  art  the  most  pleasant,  for- 
bearing, unabashed,  good  fellow,  I  have  seen  this  many  a  year. 
Give  us  thine  own  belt.  I  little  thought  my  first  eve  of  knight- 
hood would  have  been  so  charitably  spent  !  " 

'*  Methinks  these  robes  would  make  a  better  bandage,"  said 
Rodolf,  pointing  to  the  priests*  gear  suspended  from  the  wall. 

"  Silence,  knave,"  said  the  Tribune,  frowning ;  "  no  sacrilege  ! 
Yet,  as  thou  takest  such  dainty  care  of  thyself,  thou  shalt  have 
mine  own  scarf  to  accommodate  thee." 

With  that  the  Tribune,  placing  his  dagger  on  the  ground, 
while  he  cautiously  guarded  it  with  his  foot,  bound  up  the 
wounded  limb,  for  which  condescension  Rodolf  gave  him  short 
thanks  ;  resumed  his  weapon  and  lamp  ;  closed  the  door  ;  drew 
over  it  the  long,  heavy  bolt  without,  and  returned  to  his  couch, 
deeply  and  indignantly  musing  over  the  treason  he  had  so  for- 
tunately escaped. 

At  the  first  gray  streak  of  dawn  he  went  out  of  the  great 
door  of  the  chvirch,  called  the  sentry,  who  was  one  of  his  own 
guard,  and  bade  him  privately,  and  now  ere  the  world  was  astir, 
convey  the  prisoner  to  one  of  the  private  dungeons  of  the  Capi- 
tol. "  Be  silent,"  said  he  :  "  utter  not  a  word  of  this  to  any  one  ; 
be  obedient,  and  thou  shalt  be  promoted.  This  done,  find  out 
the  councillor,  Pandulfo  di  Guido,  and  bid  him  seek  me  here 
ere  the  crowd  assemble." 

lit  th«n»  making  the  sentinel  doH^  his  heavy  shoes  of  ironii 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  ilj 

led  him  across  the  church,  resigned  Rodolf  to  his  care,  saw 
them  depart,  and  in  a  few  minutes  afterwards  his  voice  was 
heard  by  the  inmates  of  the  neighboring  chapel  ;  and  he  was 
soon  surrounded  by  his  train. 

He  was  already  standing  on  the  floor,  wrapped  in  a  large 
gown  lined  with  furs  ;  and  his  piercing  eye  scanned  carefully 
the  face  of  each  man  that  approached.  Two  of  the  barons  of 
the  Frangipani  family  exhibited  some  tokens  of  confusion  and 
embarassment,  from  which  they  speedily  recovered  at  the  frank 
salutation  of  the  Tribune. 

But  all  the  art  of  Savelli  could  not  prevent  his  features  from 
betraying  to  the  most  indifferent  eye  the  terror  of  his  soui  ;  and 
when  he  felt  the  penetrating  gaze  of  Rienzi  upon  nim,  he 
trembled  in  every  joint.  Rienzi  alone  did  not,  however,  seem 
to  notice  his  disorder  ;  and  when  Vicodi  Scotto,  an  old  knight, 
from  whose  hands  he  received  his  sword,  asked  him  how  he  had 

passed  the  night,  he  replied  cheerfully  : 

"Well,  well,  my  brave  friend  !     Over  a  maiden  knight  some 

good  angel  always  watches.     Signor  Luca  di  Savelli,  I  fear  you 

have  slept  but  ill ;  you  seem  pale.     No  matter  !  our  banquet 

to-day  will  soon  brighten  the  current  of  your  gay  blood." 
*' Blood,  Tribune!"  said  di  Scotto,  who  was  innocent  of  the 

plot  :  *'  thou  sayest  blood,  and  lo  !  on  the  floor  are  large  gouts 

of  it  not  yet  dry." 

"  Now,  out  on  thee,  old  hero,  for  betraying  my  awkwardness  ! 

I  pricked  myself  with  my  own  dagger  in  unrobing.     Thank 

Heaven,  it  hath  no  poison  in  its  blade !  " 

The  Frangipani  exchanged  looks,  Luca  di  Savelli  clung  to 

a  column  for  support,  and  the  rest  of  the  attendants  seemed 

grave  and  surprised. 

"Think  not  of  it,  my  masters,"  said  Rienzi  :  "it  is  a  good 

omen,  and  a  true  prophecy.     It  implies  that  he  who  girds  on  hi. 

sword  for  the  good  of  the  state,  must  be  ready  to  spill  his  ow: . 

blood  for  it  ;  that  am  I.     No  more  of  this — a  mere  scratch  ;  i 

gave  more  blood  than  I  recked  of  from  so  slight   a  punctur., 

and  saves  the  leech  the  trouble  of  the   lancet.     How  brioiitly 

breaks  the  day  !     We  must  prepare  to  n|eet  our  fellow-citizen    . 

they  will  be  here  anon.     Ha,  my  Pandulfo,  welcome  !     Thou, 

my  old  friend,  shalt  buckle  on  this  mantle  !  " 

And  while  Pandulfo   was  engaged  in  the   task  the    Tribune 

whispered  a  few  words  in  his   ear,  which,  by  the  smile  on  his 

countenance,  seemed  to  the  attendants  one  of  the  familiar  jests 

with  which  Rienzi  distinguished  b»s  intercourse  with  his  more 

confidential  intimates. 


414     '  RIENZI, 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   CELEBRATED    CITATION. 

The  bell  in  the  great  Lateran  church  sounded  shrill  and 
loud,  as  the  mighty  multitude,  greater  even  than  that  of  the 
preceding  night,  swept  on.  The  appointed  officers  made  way 
with  difficulty  for  the  barons  and  ambassadors,  and  scarcely 
were  those  noble  visitors  admitted  ere  the  crowd  closed  in  their 
ranks,  poured  headlong  into  the  church,  and  took  the 
way  to  the  chapel  of  Boniface  VIII.  There,  filling  every 
cranny,  and  blocking  up  the  entrance,  the  more  fortunate 
of  the  press  beheld  the  Tribune  surrounded  by  the  splendid 
court  his  genius  had  collected,  and  his  fortune  had  subdued. 
At  length,  as  the  solemn  and  holy  music  began  to  swell 
through  the  edifice,  preluding  the  celebration  of  the  mass, 
the  Tribune  stepped  forth,  and  the  hush  of  the  music  was 
increased  by  the  universal  and  dead  silence  of  the  audi- 
ence. His  height,  his  air,  his  countenance  were  such  as  al- 
ways attract  the  attention  of  crowds ;  and  at  this  time  they 
received  every  adjunct  from  the  interest  of  the  occasion,  and 
that  peculiar  look  of  intent  yet  suppressed  fervor,  which  is,  per- 
haps, the  sole  gift  of  the  eloquent  that  nature  alone  can  give. 

*' Be  it  known,"  said  he,  slowly  and  deliberately,  "in  virtue 
of  that  authority,  power,  and  jurisdiction,  which  the  Roman 
people,  in  general  parliament,  have  assigned  to  us,  and  which 
the  Sovereign  Pontiff  hath  confirmed,  that  we,  not  ungrateful 
of  the  gift  and  grace  of  the  Holy  Spirit — whose  soldier  we 
now  are — nor  of  the  favor  of  the  Roman  people,  declare,  that 
Rome,  capital  of  the  world,  and  base  of  the  Christian  Church  ; 
and  that  every  City,  State,  and  People  of  Italy,  are  henceforth 
free.  By  that  freedom,  and  in  the  same  consecrated  authority, 
we  proclaim,  that  the  election,  jurisdiction,  and  monarchy  of 
the  Roman  empire  appertain  to  Rome,  and  Rome's  people,  and 
the  whole  of  Italy.  We  cite,  then,  and  summon  personally, 
the  illustrious  princes,  Louis  Duke  of  Bavaria,  and  Charles 
King  of  Bohemia,  who  would  style  themselves  Emperors  of 
Italy,  to  appear  before  us,  or  the  other  magistrates  of  Rome,  to 
plead  and  to  prove  their  claim  between  this  day  and  the  Day 
of  Pentecost.  We  cite  also,  and  within  the  same  term,  the 
Duke  of  Saxony,  the  Prince  of  Brandenburg,  and  whosoever 
else,  potentate,  prince,  or  prelate,  asserts  the  right  of  Elector 
to  the  imperial  throne — a  right  that,  we  find  it  chronicled  from 


THE   LAST    OF     THE    TRIBUNES.  21$ 

ancient  and  immemorial  time,  appertaineth  only  to  the  Roman 
people — and  this  in  vindication  of  our  civil  liberties,  without 
derogation  of  the  spiritual  power  of  the  Church,  the  Pontiff, 
and  the  Sacred  College.*  Herald,  proclaim  the  citation,  at  the 
greater  and  more  formal  length,  as  written  and  entrusted  to 
your  hands,  without  the  Lateran." 

As  Rienzi  concluded  this  bold  proclamation  of  the  liberties 
of  Italy,  the  Tuscan  ambassadors,  and  those  of  some  other  of 
the  free  States,  murmured  low  approbation.  The  ambassadors 
of  those  States  that  affected  the  party  of  the  Emperor  looked 
at  each  other  in  silent  amaze  and  consternation.  The  Roman 
barons  remained  with  mute  lips  and  downcast  eyes ;  only  over 
the  aged  face  of  Stephen  Colonna  settled  a  smile,  half  of  scorn, 
half  of  exultation.  But  the  great  mass  of  the  citizens  were 
caught  by  words  that  opened  so  grand  a  prospect  as  the 
emancipation  of  all  Italy,  and  their  reverence  of  the  Tribune's 
power  and  fortune  was  almost  that  due  to  a  supernatural  being; 
so  that  they  did  not  pause  to  calculate  the  means  which  were 
to  correspond  with  the  boast. 

While  his  eye  roved  over  the  crowd,  the  gorgeous  assemblage 
near  him,  the  devoted  throng  beyond  ;  as  on  his  ear  boomed 
the  murmur  of  thousands  and  ten  thousands,  in  the  space  with- 
out, from  before  the  Palace  of  Constantine  (palace  now  his 
own  !)  sworn  to  devote  life  and  fortune  to  his  cause  ;  in  the 
flush  of  prosperity  that  yet  had  known  no  check  ;  in  the  zenith 
of  power,  as  yet  unconscious  of  reverse,  the  heart  of  the  Trib- 

*  "  '  II  tutto  senza  derogare  all'  autorita  della  Chiesa,  del  Papa  e  del  Sacro  Collegio." 
So  concludes  this  extraordinary  citation,  this  bold  and  wonderful  assertion  of  the  classic 
independence  of  Italy,  in  the  most  feudal  time  of  the  fourteenth  century.  The  anonymous 
biographer  of  Rienzi  declares  that  the  Tribune  cited  also  the  Pope  and  the  Cardinals  to' 
reside  in  Rome.  De  Sade  powerfully  and  incontrovertibly  refutes  this  addition  to  the 
daring  or  the  extravagance  of  Rienzi  Gibbon,  however,  who  has  rendered  the  rest  of  the 
citation  in  terms  more  abrupt  and  discourteous  than  he  was  warranted  by  any  authority, 
copies  the  biographer's  blunder,  and  sneers  at  De  Sade,  as  using  arguments  "  rather  of 
decency  than  of  weight."  Without  wearying  the  reader  with  all  the  arguments  of  the 
learned  Abbe,  it  may  be  sufficient  to  give  the  first  two. 

ist.  All  the  other  contemporaneous  historians  that  have  treated  of  this  event,  G.  Villani, 
Hocsemius,  the  Vatican  MSS.  and  other  chroniclers,  relating  the  citation  of  the  Emperor 
and  Electors,  say  nothing  of  that  of  the  Pope  and  Cardinals  ;  and  the  Pope  (Clement  VI.), 
in  his  subsequent^  accusation  of  Rienzi,  while  very  bitter  against  his  citation  of  the  Em- 
peror, is  wholly  silent  on  what  would  have  been  to  the  Pontifi  the  much  greater  offence 
of  citing  himself  and  the  Cardinals. 

cJ.  The  literal  act  of  this  citation,  as  published  formerly  in  the  Lateran,  is  extant  in 
Hocsemius  (whence  is  borrowed,  though  not  at  all  its  length,  the  speech  in  the  text  of  our 
present  tale) ;  and  in  this  document  the  Pope  and  his  Cardinals  are  not  named  in  the 
summons. 

Gibbon's  whole  account  of  Rienzi  is  superficial  and  unfair.  To  the  cold  and  sneering 
scepticism,  which  so  often  deforms  the  gigantic  work  of  that  great  writer,  allowing  nothing 
for  that  sincere  and  urgent  enthusiasm  which,  whether  of  liberty  or  religion,  is  the  most 
common  parent  of  daring  action,  the  great  Roman  seems  but  an  ambitious  and  fantastic 
madman.  In  Gibbon's  hands  what  would  Cromwell  have  been  ?  what  Vane  .'  what  Hamp- 
den ?  The  pedant,  Julian,  with  his  dirty  person  and  pompous  affectation,  was  Gibbon's 
idecU  of  a  great  man, 


il6  RIENZI, 

une  swelled  proudly ;'  vision  of  mighty  x'ame  and  limitless 
dominion, — fame  and  dominion,  once  his  beloved  Rome's  and 
by  him  to  be  restored,  rushed  before  his  intoxicated  gaze  ;  and 
in  the  delirious  and  passionate  aspiration  of  the  moment,  he 
turned  his  sword  alternately  to  the  three  quarters  of  the  then 
known  globe,  and  said,  in  an  abstracted  voice,  as  a  man  in  a 
dream,  "  In  the  right  of  the  Roman  people  t/n's  too  is  mine  !  "* 

Low  though  the  voice,  the  wild  boast  was  heard  by  all  around 
as  distinctly  as  if  borne  to  them  in  thunder.  And  vain  it  were 
to  describe  the  various  sensations  it  excited  ;  the  extravagance 
would  have  moved  the  derision  of  his  foes,  the  grief  of  his 
friends,  but  for  the  manner  of  the  speaker,  which,  solemn  and 
commanding,  hushed  for  the  moment  even  reason  and  hatred 
themselves  in  awe  ;  afterwards  remembered  and  repeated,  void 
of  the  spell  they  had  borrowed  from  the  utterer,  the  words  met 
the  cold  condemnation  of  the  well-judging  ;  but  at  that  moment 
all  things  seemed  possible  to  the  hero  of  the  people.  He  spoke 
as  one  inspired  ;  they  trembled  and  believed ;  and,  as  rapt 
from  the  spectacle,  he  stood  a  moment  silent,  his  arm  still  ex- 
tended, his  dark  dilating  eye  fixed  upon  space,  his  lips  parted, 
his  proud  head  towering  and  erect  above  the  herd,  his  own 
enthusiasm  kindled  that  of  the  more  humble  and  distant  spec- 
tators ;  and  there  was  a  deep  murmur  begun  by  one,  echoed  by 
the  rest,  "  The  Lord  is  with  Italy  and  Rienzi  !  " 

The  Tribune  turned, — he  saw  the  Pope's  Vicar  astonished, 
bewildered,  rising  to  speak.  His  sense  and  foresight  returned 
to  him  at  once,  and,  resolved  to  drown  the  dangerous  disavowal 
of  the  Papal  authority  for  this  hardihood,  which  was  ready  to 
burst  from  Raimond's  lips,  he  motioned  quickly  to  the  musi- 
cians, and  the  solemn  and  ringing  chant  of  the  sacred  ceremony 
prevented  the  Bishop  of  Orvietto  all  occasion  of  self-exoneration 
or  reply. 

The  moment  the  ceremony  was  over,  Rienzi  touched  the 
Bishop,  and  whispered,  "We  will  explain  this  to  your  liking. 
You  feast  with  us  at  the  Lateran.  Your  arm."  Nor  did  he 
leave  the  good  Bishop's  arm,  nor  trust  him  to  other  companion- 
ship, until  to  the  stormy  sound  of  horn  and  trumpet,  drum  and 
cymbal,  and  amidst  such  a  concourse  as  might  have  hailed,  on 
the  same  spot,  the  legendary  baptism  of  Constantine,  the  Trib- 
une and  his  nobles  entered  the  great  gates  of  the  Lateran, 
then  the  Palace  of  the  World. 

'I'hus  ended  that  remarkable  ceremony  and  that  proud  chal- 
lenge of  the  Northern  Powers,  in  behalf  of  the  Italian  libertie§i 

♦  '•Questoemio," 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  217 

which,  had  it  been  afterwards  successful,  would  have  been 
deemed  a  sublime  daring  ;  which,  unsuccessful,  has  been  con- 
strued by  the  vulgar  into  a  frantic  insolence;  but  which,  calmly 
considering  all  the  circumstances  that  urged  on  the  Tribune, 
and  all  the  power  that  surrounded  him,  was  not,  perhaps,  alto- 
gether so  imprudent  as  it  seemed.  And,  even  accepting  that 
mprudence  in  the  extremest  sense,  by  the  more  penetrating 
judge  of  the  higher  order  of  character,  it  will  probably  be  con- 
sidered as  the  magnificent  folly  of  a  bold  nature,  excited  at  once 
by  position  and  prosperity,  by  religious  credulities,  by  patriotic 
aspirings,  by  scholastic  visions  too  suddenly  transferred  from 
revery  to  action,  beyond  that  wise  and  earthward  policy  which 
sharpens  the  weapon  ere  it  casts  the  gauntlet. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   FESTIVAL. 

The  Festival  of  that  day  was  by  far  the  most  sumptuous 
hitherto  known.  The  hint  of  Cecco  del  Vecchio,  which  so 
well  depicted  the  character  of  his  fellow-citizens,  as  yet  it 
exists,  though  not  to  such  excess,  in  their  love  of  holyday 
pomp  and  gorgeous  show,  was  not  lost  upon  Rienzi.  One  in- 
stance of  the  universal  banqueting  (intended,  indeed,  rather 
for  the  people  than  the  higher  ranks)  may  illustrate  the  more 
than  royal  profusion  that  prevailed.  From  morn  till  eve  streams 
of  wine  flowed  like  a  fountain  from  the  nostrils  of  the  Horse  of 
the  great  Equestrian  Statue  of  Constantine.  The  mighty  halls  of 
the  Lateran  palace,  open  to  all  ranks,  were  prodigally  spread  ; 
and  the  games,  sports,  and  buffooneries  of  the  time  were  in 
ample  requisition.  Apart  the  Tribunessa,  as  Nina  was  rather 
unclassically  entitled,  entertained  the  dames  of  Rome  ;  while 
the  Tribune  had  so  effectually  silenced  or  conciliated  Raimond, 
that  the  good  Bishop  shared  his  peculiar  table — the  only  one 
admitted  to  that  honor.  As  the  eye  ranged  each  saloon  and 
hall,  it  beheld  the  space  lined  with  all  the  nobility  and  knight- 
hood, the  wealth  and  strength,  the  learning  and  the  beauty,  of 
the  Italian  metropolis  ;  mingled  with  ambassadors  and  noble 
strangers,  even  from  beyond  the  Alps* — envoys  not  only  of 
the  free  States  that  had  welcomed  the  rise  of  the  Tribune,  but 

*  The  'limple  and  credulous  biographer  of  Rienzi  declares  his  fame  to  bavc  reached  tho 
f^rs  of  the  Soldan  of  Babyloq. 


2l8  RIENZI, 

of  the  high-born  and  haughty  tyrants  who  had  first  derided  his 
arrogance,  and  now  cringed  to  his  power.  There  were  not  only 
the  ambassadors  of  Florence,  of  Sienna,  of  Arezzo  (which  last 
subjected  its  government  to  the  Tribune),  of  Todi,  of  Spoleto, 
and  of  countless  other  lesser  towns  and  States,  but  of  the  dark 
and  terrible  Visconti,  prince  of  Milan  ;  of  Obizza  of  Ferrara, 
and  the  tyrant  rulers  of  Verona  and  Bologna  ;  even  the  proud 
and  sagacious  Malatesta,  Lord  of  Rimini,  whose  arm  afterwards 
broke  for  awhile  the  power  of  Montreal,  at  the  head  of  his 
Great  Company,  had  deputed  his  representative  in  his  most 
honored  noble.  John  di  Vico,  the  worst  and  most  malignant 
despot  of  his  day,  who  had  sternly  defied  the  arms  of  the 
Tribune,  now  subdued  and  humbled,  was  there  in  person  ;  and 
the  ambassadors  of  Hungary  and  of  Naples  mingled  with  those 
of  Bavaria  and  Bohemia,  whose  sovereigns  that  day  had  been 
cited  to  the  Roman  Judgment  Court.  The  nodding  of 
plumes,  the  glitter  of  jewels  and  cloth  of  gold,  the  rustling  of 
silks  and  jingle  of  golden  spurs,  the  waving  of  banners  from 
the  roof,  the  sounds  of  minstrelsy  from  the  galleries  above,  all 
presented  a  picture  of  such  power  and  state — a  court  and  chiv- 
alry of  such  show — as  the  greatest  of  the  feudal  kings  might  have 
beheld  with  a  sparkling  eye  and  a  swelling  heart.  But  at  that 
moment  the  cause  and  lord  of  all  that  splendor,  recovered  from 
his  late  exhilaration,  sat  moody  and  abstracted,  remembering 
with  a  thoughtful  brow  the  adventure  of  the  past  night,  and 
sensible  that  amongst  his  gaudiest  revellers  lirrked  his  intended 
murtherers.  Amidst  the  swell  of  the  minstrelsy  and  the  pomp 
of  the  crowd  he  felt  that  treason  scowled  beside  him  ;  and  the 
image  of  the  skeleton  obtruding,  as  of  old,  its  grim  thought  of 
death  upon  the  feast,  darkened  the  ruby  of  the  wine,  and 
chilled  the  glitter  of  the  scene. 

It  was  while  the  feast  was  loudest  that  Rienzi's  page  was 
seen  gliding  through  the  banquet,  and  whispering  several  of 
the  nobles  ;  each  bowed  low,  but  changed  color  as  he  received 
the  message. 

"My  Lord  Savelli,"  said  Orsini,  himself  trembling,  **  bear 
yourself  more  bravely.  This  must  be  meant  in  honor,  not  re- 
venge.    I  suppose  your  summons  corresponds  with  mine." 

**  He — he — asks — asks — me  to  supper  at  the  Capitol  ;  a 
fri — endly  meeting — (pest  on  his  friendship  !) — after  the  noise 
of  the  day." 

"The  words  addressed  also  to  me!  "  said  Orsini,  turning  to 
pne  of  the  Frangipani. 

Those  who  fepeiv^4  the  sumtrions  soon  broHe  ffom  the  feas^ 


THE  LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  219 

and  collected  in  a  group,  eagerly  conferring.  Some  were  for 
flight,  but  flight  was  confession  ;  their  number,  rank,  long  and 
consecrated  impunity,  reassured  them,  and  they  resolved  to 
obey.  The  old  Colonna,  the  sole  innocent  baron  of  the  in- 
vited guests,  was  also  the  only  one  who  refused  the  invitation. 
"  Tush  !  "  said  he,  peevishly  ;  ''here  is  feasting  enough  for  one 
day  !  Tell  the  Tribune  that  ere  he  sups  I  hope  to  be  asleep. 
Gray  hairs  cannot  encounter  all  this  fever  of  festivity." 

As  Rienzi  rose  to  depart,  which  he  did  early,  for  the  banquet 
took  place  while  yet  morning,  Raimond,  eager  to  escape  and 
confer  with  some  of  his  spiritual  friends  as  to  the  report  he 
should  make  to  the  Pontiff,  was  beginning  his  expressions  of 
farewell,  when  the  merciless  Tribune  said  to  him  gravely  : 

"  My  Lord,  we  want  you  on  urgent  business  at  the  Capitol. 
A  prisoner — a  trial — perhaps  (he  added  with  his  portentous 
and  prophetic  frown)  an  execuHon  waits  us  !     Come." 

'•  Verily,  Tribune,"  stammered  the  good  Bishop,  "  this  is  a 
strange  time  for  execution  !  " 

"Last  night  was  a  time  yet  more  strange.     Come." 

There  was  something  in  the  way  in  which  the  final  word  was 
pronounced,  that  Raimond  could  not  resist.  He  cighed,  mut- 
tered, twitched  his  robes,  and  followed  the  Tribune.  As  he 
passed  through  the  halls,  the  company  rose  on  all  sides.  Rienzi 
repaid  their  salutations  with  smiles  and  whispers  of  frank  cour- 
tesy and  winning  address.  Young  as  he  yet  was,  and  of  a 
handsome  and  noble  presence,  that  took  every  advantage  from 
splendid  attire,  and  yet  more  from  an  appearance  of  intellec- 
tual command  in  his  brow  and  eye,  which  the  less  cultivated 
signors  of  that  dark  age  necessarily  wanted,  he  glittered 
through  the  court  as  one  worthy  to  form,  and  fitted  to  preside 
over,  it  ;  and  his  supposed  descent  from  the  Teuton  Emperor, 
i\'hich,  since  his  greatness,  was  universally  bruited  and  believed 
-broad,  seemed  undeniably  visible  to  the  foreign  lords  in  the 
niajesty  of  his  mien  and  the  easy  blandness  of  his  address. 

"  My  Lord  Prefect,"  said  he  to  a  dark  and  sullen  personage 
in  black  velvet,  the  powerful  and  arrogant  John  di  Vico,  pre- 
fect o-f  Rome,  "  we  are  rejoiced  to  find  so  noble  a  guest  at 
Rome  :  we  must  repay  the  courtesy  by  surprising  you  in  your 
own  palace  ere  long  ;  nor  will  you,  signor  "  (as  he  turned  to  the 
envoy  from  Tivoli),  "  refuse  us  a  shelter  amidst  your  groves  and 
waterfalls  ere  the  vintage  be  gathered.  Methinks  Rome, united 
with  sweet  Tivoli,  grows  reconciled  to  the  Muses.  Your  suit 
is  carried.  Master  Venoni  :  the  council  recognizes  its  justice  ; 
but  I  reserved  the  news  for  this  holyday — you  do  not  blame 


220  RIENZT, 

me,  I  trust."  This  was  whispered,  with  a  half-affectionate 
frankness,  to  a  worthy  citizen,  who,  finding  himself  amidst  so 
many  of  the  great,  would  have  shrunk  from  the  notice  of  the 
Tribune  ;  but  it  was  the  policy  of  Rienzi  to  pay  an  especial 
and  marked  attention  to  those  engaged  in  commercial  pursuits. 
As,  after  tarrying  a  moment  or  two  with  the  merchant,  he 
passed  on,  the  tall  person  of  the  old  Colonna  caught  his 
eye  : 

"  Signor,"  said  he,  with  a  profound  inclination  of  his  head, 
but  with  a  slight  emphasis  of  tone,  "  you  will  not  fail  us  this 
evening." 

"  Tribune — "  began  the  Colonna. 

"  We  receive  no  excuse,"  interrupted  the  Tribune  hastily^ 
and  passed  on. 

He  halted  for  a  few  moments  before  a  small  group  of  men 
plainly  attired,  who  were  watching  him  with  intense  interest  ; 
for  they,  too,  were  scholars,  and  in  Rienzi's  rise  they  saw  another 
evidence  of  that  wonderful  and  sudden  power  which  intellect 
had  begun  to  assume  over  brute  force.  With  these,  as  if  ab- 
ruptly mingled  with  congenial  spirits,  the  Tribune  relaxed  all 
the  gravity  of  his  brow.  Happier,  perhaps,  his  living  career — 
more  unequivocal  his  posthumous  renown — had  his  objects  as 
his  tastes  been  theirs  ! 

*'  Ah,  carissime  !  "  said  he  to  one,  whose  arm  he  drew  within 
his  own,  "and  how  proceeds  thy  interpretation  of  the  old  mar- 
bles ?  half  unravelled  ?  I  rejoice  to  hear  it !  Confer  with 
me  as  of  old,  I  pray  thee.  To-morrow — no,  nor  the  day  after, 
but  next  week — we  will  have  a  tranquil  evening.  Dear  poet, 
your  ode  transported  me  to  the  days  of  Horace  ;  yet,  methinks, 
we  do  wrong  to  reject  the  vernacular  for  the  Latin.  You 
shake  your  head  ?  Well,  Petrarch  thinks  with  you  :  his  great 
epic  moves  with  the  stride  of  a  giant,  so  I  hear  from  his  friend 
and  envoy, — and  here  he  is.  My  Lselius,  is  that  not  your 
name  with  Petrarch  ?  How  shall  I  express  my  delight  at  his 
comforting,  his  inspiring  letter  ?  Alas  !  he  overrates  not  my 
intentions,  but  my  power.     Of  this  hereafter." 

A  slight  shade  darkened  the  Tribune's  brow  at  these  words  * 
but  moving  on,  a  long  line  of  nobles  and  princes  on  either 
side,  he  regained  his  self-possession,  and  the  dignity  he  had 
dropped  with  his  former  equals.  Thus  he  passed  through  the 
crowd,  and  gradually  disappeared. 

"  He  bears  him  bravely,"  said  one,  as  the  revellers  reseated 
themselves.     "  Noticed  you  the  7ve — the  style  royal  ? " 

"  But  it  must  be  owned  that  he  lords  it  well,"  said  ihe  am« 


THE    LAST    Of    the    TRIBUNES.  221 

bassador  of  the  Visconti :  "  less  pride  would  be  cringing  to 
his  haughty  court." 

"  Why,"  said  a  professor  of  Bologna,  "why  is  the  Tribune 
called  proud?     I  see  no  pride  in  him." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  a  wealthy  jeweller. 

While  these,  and  yet  more  contradictory,  comments  followed 
^  e  exit  of  the  Tribune,  he  passed  into  the  saloon,  where  Nina 
.  resided  ;  and  here  his  fair  person  and  silver  tongue  ('*  Suavis 
coloratceque  sententtce,''  according  to  the  description  of  Petrarch) 
won  him  a  more  general  favor  with  the  matrons  than  he  ex- 
perienced with  their  lords,  and  not  a  little  contrasted  the  for- 
mal and  nervous  compliments  of  the  good  Bishop,  who  served 
him  on  such  occasions  with  an  excellent  foil. 

But  as  soon  as  these  ceremonies  were  done,  and  Rienzi 
mounted  his  horse,  his  manner  changed  at  once  into  a  stern 
and  ominous  severity. 

*'  Vicar,"  said  he  abruptly,  to  the  Bishop,  "  we  might  well 
need  your  presence.  Learn  that  at  the  Capital  now  sits  the 
Council  in  judgment  upon  an  [assassin.  Last  night,  but  for 
Heaven's  mercy,  I  should  have  fallen  a  victim  to  a  hireling's 
dagger.     Knew  you  aught  of  this?" 

And  he  turned  so  sharply  on  the  Bishop,  that  the  poor  can- 
onist nearly  dropped  from  his  horse  in  surprise  and  terror. 

"  I !  "  said  he. 

Rienzi  smiled  :  "  No,  good  my  lord  Bishop  !  I  see  you  are 
of  no  murtherer's  mould.  But  to  continue  :  that  I  might  not 
appear  to  act  in  mine  own  cause,  I  ordered  the  prisoner  to 
be  tried  in  my  absence.  In  his  trial  (you  marked  the  letter 
brought  me  at  our  banquet ) — " 

'Ay,  and  you  changed  color." 

''  Well  I  might  :  in  his  trial,  I  say,  he  confessed  that  nine  of 
the  loftiest  lords  of  Rome  were  his  instigators.  They  sup  with 
vie  to-night  i     Vicar,  forwards  !  " 


222  r.IENZI, 

BOOK     V. 

THE  CRISIS. 

"Questo  ha  accesso  '1  fuoco  e  la  fiamma  laquale  non  la  par  spotegnere/'— 
Vi^.  di  Col.  di  Ricnzi,  lib.  i.  cap.  29. 

"  He  has  kindled  fire  and  flames  which  he  will  not  be  able  to  extinguish.  '•=- 
Life  of  Cola  di  Rienzi. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    JUDGMENT    OF    THE    TRIBUNE. 

The  brief  words  of  the  Tribune  to  Stephen  Colonna,  though 
they  sharpened  the  rage  of  the  proud  old  noble,  were  such  as 
he  did  not  on  reflection  deem  it  prudent  to  disobey.  Accord- 
ingly, at  the  appointed  hour,  he  found  himself  in  one  of  the 
halls  of  the  Capitol,  with  a  gallant  party  of  his  peers.  Rienzi 
received  them  with  more  than  his  usual  graciousness. 

They  sate  down  to  the  splendid  board  in  secret  uneasiness 
and  alarm,  as  they  saw  that,  with  the  exception  of  Stephen 
Colonna,  none,  save  the  conspirators,  had  been  invited  to  the 
banquet.  Rienzi,  regardless  of  their  silence  and  abstraction, 
was  more  than  usually  gay — the  old  Colonna  more  than  usually 
sullen. 

*'  We  fear  we  have  but  ill  pleased  you,  my  Lord  Colonna,  by 
our  summons.  Once,  methinks,  we  might  more  easily  provoke 
you  to  a  smile." 

"Situations  are  changed.  Tribune,  since  you  were  my  guest." 

**  Why,  scarcely  so.  I  have  risen,  but  you  have  not  fallen. 
Ye  walk  the  streets  da^  and  night  in  security  and  peace  ;  your 
lives  are  safe  from  the  robber,  and  your  palaces  no  longer  need 
bars  and  battlements  to  shield  you  from  your  fellow-citizens. 
I  have  risen,  but  we  all  have  risen — from  barbarous  disorder 
into  civilized  life  ■  My  Lord  Gianni  Colonna,  whom  we  have 
made  Captain  over  Campagna,  you  will  not  refuse  a  cup  to  the 
Buono  Stato  ;  nor  think  we  mistrust  your  valor  when  we  say 
that  we  rejoice  Rome  hath  no  enemies  to  attest  your  general- 
ship." 

'^Methinks^"  quoih  ^«  old  Colonna  bluntly^  '*  we  shall  havt 


TH£   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  223 

enemies  enough  from  Bohemia  and  Bavaria,  ere  the  next  harvest 
be  green." 

"  And  if  so,"  replied  the  Tribune  calmly,  "foreign  foes  are 
better  than  civil  strife." 

"  Ay,  if  we  have  money  in  the  treasury  ;  which  is  but  little 
likely,  if  we  have  many  more  such  holydays." 

"  You  are  ungracious,  my  lord,"  said  the  Tribune  ;  "  and, 
besides,  you  are  more  uncomplimentary  to  Rome  than  to  our- 
selves. What  citizen  would  not  part  with  gold  to  buy  fame  and 
liberty  ?  " 

*'  I  know  very  few  in  Rome  that  would,"  answered  the  Baron. 
"  But  tell  me,  Tribune,  you  who  are  a  notable  casuist,  which  is 
the  best  for  a  State — that  its  governor  should  be  over-thrifty  or 
over-lavish  ?  " 

"  I  refer  the  question  to  my  friend,  Luca  di  Savelli,"  replied 
Rienzi,  "  He  is  a  grand  philosopher,  and  I  wot  well  could  ex- 
plain a  much  knottier  riddle,  which  we  will  presently  submit  to 
his  acumen." 

The  barons,  who  had  been  much  embarrassed  by  the  bold 
speech  of  the  old  Colonna,  all  turned  their  eyes  to  Savelli,  who 
answered  with  more  composure  than  was  anticipated: 

*'The  question  admits  a  double  reply.  He  who  is  born  a 
ruler,  and  maintains  a  foreign  army,  governing  by  fear,  should 
be  penurious.  He  who  is  made  ruler,  who  courts  the  people, 
and  would  reign  by  love,  must  win  their  affection  by  generosity, 
and  dazzle  their  fancies  by  pomp.  Such,  I  believe,  is  the  usual 
maxim  in  Italy,  which  is  rife  in  all  experience  of  state  wisdom." 

The  barons  unanimously  applauded  the  discreet  reply  of 
Savelli,  excepting  only  the  old  Colonna. 

"  Yet  pardon  me.  Tribune,"  said  Stephen,  "if  I  depart  from 
the  courtier-like  decision  of  our  friend,  and  opine,  though  with 
all  due  respect,  that  even  a  friar's  coarse  serge,*  the  parade  of 
humility,  would  better  become  thee  than  this  gaudy  pomp,  the 
parade  of  pride  !  "  So  saying,  he  touched  the  large  loose 
sleeve,  fringed  with  gold,  of  the  Tribune's  purple  robe. 

"  Hush,  father  !  "  said  Gianni,  Colonna's  son,  coloring  at  the 
unprovoked  rudeness  and  dangerous  candor  of  the  veteran. 

"  Nay,  it  matters  not,"  said  the  Tribune,  with  affected  indif- 
ference, though  his  lip  quivered,  and  h'is  eye  shot  fire  ;  and 
then,  after  a  pause,  he  resumed  with  an  awful  smile  :  "  If  the 
Colonna  love  the  serge  of  the  friar,  he  may  see  enough  of  it'ere 

*  "  Vestimenta  da  Bizoco."  was  the  phrase  used  hy  Colonna  ;  a  phrase  borrowed  from 
certain  heretics  {dizocc/ii)  who  affected  extreme  austerity  ;  afterwards  the  word  passed 
into  a  proverb. — See  the  comments  of  Zefirino  Re,  in  Viu  di  Cola  di  Rienzi. 


J24  RIENZI, 

we  part.  And  now,  my  Lord  Savelli,  for  my  question,  wliicK  1 
pray  you  listen  to;  it  demands  all  your  wit.  Is  it  best  tor  a 
State's  Ruler  to  be  over-forgiving,  or  over-just  ?  'Jake  breath 
to  answer  :  you  look  faint  ;  you  grow  pale  ;  you  tremble  ;  you 
cover  your  face  !  Traitor  and  assassin,  your  conscience  betrays 
you  !  My  lords,  relieve  your  accomplice,  and  take  up  the 
answer.** 

"  Nay,  if  we  are  discovered,"  said  the  Orsini,  rising  in  de- 
spair, "we  will  not  fall  unavenged — die,  tyrant !  " 

He  rushed  to  the  place  where  Rienzi  stood — for  the  Tribune 
also  rose — and  made  a  thrust  at  his  breast  with  his  dagger  ;  the 
steel  pierced  the  purple  robe,  yet  glanced  harmlessly  away,  and 
the  Tribune  regarded  the  disappointed  murtherer  with  a  scorn- 
ful smile. 

"  Till  yesternight  I  never  dreamt  that  under  the  robe  of  state 
I  should  need  the  secret  corselet,"  said  he.  "  My  lords,  you 
have  taught  me  a  dark  lesson,  and  I  thank  ye." 

So  saying,  he  clapped  his  hands,  and  suddenly  the  folding 
doors  at  the  end  of  the  hall  flew  open,  and  discovered  the 
saloon  of  the  Council  hung  with  silk  of  a  blood-red,  relieved 
by  rays  of  white, — the  emblem  of  crime  and  death.  At  a  long 
table  sate  the  councillors  in  their  robes  ;  at  the  bar  stood  a 
ruffian  form,  which  the  banqueters  too  well  recognized. 

"  Bid  Rodolf  of  Saxony  approach  !  "  said  the  Tribune. 

And  led  by  two  guards,  the  robber  entered  the  hall. 

^'  Wretch,  you  then  betrayed  us  !  "  said  oneof  the  Frangipani. 

*'  Rodolf  of  Saxony  goes  ever  to  the  highest  bidder,"  re- 
turned the  miscreant,  with  a  horrid  grin.  "  You  gave  me  gold, 
and  I  would  have  slain  your  foe  ;  your  foe  defeated  me  ;  he 
gives  me  life,  and  life  is  a  greater  boon  than  gold  !  " 

"Ye  confess  your  crime,  my  lords!  Silent!  dumb!  Where 
is  your  wit,  Savelli  ?  Where  your  pride,  Rinaldo  di  Orsini ! 
Gianni  Colonna,  is  your  chivalry  come  to  this  ?" 

"Oh  !"  continued  Rienzi,  with  deep  and  passionate  bitter- 
ness ;  "  oh,  my  lords,  will  nothing  conciliate  you — not  to  me, 
but  to  Rome?  What  hath  been  my  sin  against  you  and  yours? 
Disbanded  ruffians  (such  as  your  accuser) — dismantled  for- 
tresses— impartial  law — what  man,  in  all  the  wild  revolutions  of 
Italy,  sprung  from  the  people,  ever  yielded  less  to  their  license  ? 
Not  a  coin  of  your  coffers  touched  by  wanton  power — not  a 
hair  of  your  heads  harmed  by  private  revenge.  You,  Gianni  Co- 
lonna, loaded  with  honors,  intrusted  with  command;  you,  Al- 
phonso  di  Frangipani,  endowed  with  new  principalities, — did 
the  Tribune  remember  one  insult  he  received  from  you  as  the 


tHE   LAST    OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  t^S 

plebeian?  You  accuse  my  pride;  was  it  my  fault  that  ye 
cringed  and  fawned  upon  my  power, — flattery  on  your  lips, 
poison  at  your  hearts  ?  No,  J  have  not  offended  you  ;  let  the 
world  know,  that  in  me  you  aimed  at  liberty,  justice,  law, 
order,  the  restored  grandeur,  the  renovated  rights  of  Rome ! 
At  these,  the  Abstract  and  the  Immortal — not  at  this  frail  form — 
ye  struck  ;  by  the  divinity  of  these  ye  are  defeated  ;  for  the 
outraged  majesty  of  these, — criminals  and  victims, — ye  must 
die." 

With  these  words,  uttered  with  the  tone  and  air  that  would 
have  become  the  loftiest  spirit  of  the  ancient  city,  Rienzi,  with 
a  majestic  step,  swept  from  the  chamber  into  the  Hall  of 
Council.* 

All  that  night  the  conspirators  remained  within  that  room, 
the  doors  locked  and  guarded  ;  the  banquet  unremoved,  and 
its  splendor  strangely  contrasting  the  mood  of  the  guests. 

The  utter  prostration  and  despair  of  these  dastard  criminals, 
so  unlike  the  knightly  nobles  of  France  and  England,  has  been 
painted  by  the  historian  in  odious  and  withering  colors.  The 
old  Colonna  alone  sustained  his  impetuous  and  imperious 
character.  He  strode  to  and  fro  the  room  like  a  lion  in  his 
cage,  uttering  loud  threats  of  resentment  and  defiance  ;  and 
beating  at  the  door  with  his  clenched  hands,  demanding  egress, 
and  proclaiming  the  vengeance  of  the  Pontiff. 

The  dawn  came  slow  and  gray  upon  that  agonized  assembly: 
and  just  as  the  last  star  faded  from  the  melancholy  horizon, 
and  by  the  wan  and  comfortless  heaven  they  regarded  each 
other's  faces,  almost  spectral  with  anxiety  and  fear,  the  great 
bell  of  the  Capitol  sounded  the  notes  in  which  they  well  recog- 
nized the  chime  of  death  !  It  was  then  that  the  door  opened, 
and  a  drear  and  gloomy  procession  of  cordeliers,  one  to  each 
baron,  entered  the  apartment !  At  that  spectacle,  we  are  told, 
the  terror  of  the  conspirators  was  so  great,  that  it  froze  up  the 
very  power  of  speech. f  The  greater  part  at  length,  deeming 
all  hope  over,  resigned  themselves  to  their  ghostly  confessors. 
But  when  the  friar  appointed  to  Stephen  approached  that  pas- 
sionate old  man,  he  waved  his  hand  impatiently,  and  said : 
"  Tease  me  not  I  tease  me  not  !  " 

*'  Nay;  son,  prepare  for  the  awful  hour." 

"  Son,  indeed,"  quoth  the  Baron.     "  I  am  old  enough  to  be 

*  The  guilt  of  the  barons  in  their  designed  assassination  of  Rienzi,  though  hastily  slurred 
over  by  Gibbon,  and  other  modern  writers,  is  clearly  attested  by  Muratori,  the  Bolognese 
Chronicle,  etc, —  T^ey  even  confessed  the  crime.  (See  Cron.  Estens  :  Muratori,  torn, 
xviii.  p.  442.) 

t  *'  Diventaronto  sigelati,  che  non  poteano  favellare.'* 


i^id  RiENZt, 

thy  grandsire;  and  for  the  rest,  tell  him  who  sent  thee,  that  1 
neither  am  prepared  for  death,  nor  will  prepare  !  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  live  these  twenty  years,  and  longer  too,  if  1 
catch  not  my  death  with  the  cold  of  this  accursed  niglit." 

Just  at  that  moment  a  cry  that  almost  seemed  to  rend  the 
Capitol  asunder  was  heard,  as  with  one  voice  the  multitude 
below  yelled  forth  : 

"  Death  to  the  conspirators  !  death  !  death  !  " 

While  this  the  scene  in  that  hall,  the  Tribune  issued  from 
his  chamber,  in  which  he  had  been  closeted  with  his  wife  and 
sister.  The  noble  spirit  of  the  one,  the  tears  and  grief  of  the 
other  (who  saw  at  one  fell  stroke  perish  the  house  of  her  be- 
trothed), had  not  worked  without  effect  upon  a  temper,  stern 
and  just  indeed,  but  naturally  averse  from  blood  ;  and  a  heart 
capable  of  the  loftiest  species  of  revenge. 

He  entered  the  Council,  still  sitting,  with  a  calm  brow,  and 
even  a  cheerful  eye. 

"  Pandulfo  di  Guido,"  he  said,  turning  to  that  citizen,  "  you 
are  right;  you  spoke  as  a  wise  man  and  a  patriot,  when  you 
said  that  to  cut  off  with  one  blow,  however  merited,  the  no- 
blest heads  of  Rome,  would  endanger  the  State,  sully  our  pur- 
ple with  an  indelible  stain,  and  unite  the  nobility  of  Italy 
against  us." 

"  Such,  Tribune,  was  my  argument,  though  the  Council  have 
decided  otherwise." 

"Hearken  to  the  shouts  of  the  populace;  you  cannot  ap- 
pease their  honest  warmth,"  said  the  demagogue  Baroncelli. 

Many  of  the  Council  murmured  applause. 

"  Friends,"  said  the  Tribune,  with  a  solemn  and  earnest  as- 
pect, "let  not  Posterity  say  that  Liberty  loves  blood;  let  us 
for  once  adopt  the  example  and  imitate  the  mercy  of  our  great 
Redeemer!  We  have  triumphed — let  us  forbear;  we  are  saved — 
let  us  forgive  !  " 

The  speech  of  the  Tribune  was  supported  by  Pandulfo,  and 
others  of  the  more  mild  and  moderate  policy;  and  after  a 
short  but  animated  discussion,  the  influence  of  Rienzi  pre- 
vailed, and  the  sentence  of  death  was  revoked,  but  by  a  small 
majority. 

"  And  now,"  said  Rienzi,  "let  us  be  more  than  just;  let  us 
be  generous.  Speak — and  boldly.  Do  any  of  ye  think  that  I 
have  been  over-hard,  over-haughty  with  these  stubborn  spirits  .'' 
I  read  your  answer  in  your  brows  !  I  have  !  Do  any  of  ye 
think  this  error  of  mine  may  have  stirred  them  to  their  dark 
revenge  r     Do  any  of  you  deem  that  they  partake,  as  we  do,  of 


THE   LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  227 

human  nature;  that  they  are  sensible  to  kindness;  that  they 
are  softened  by  generosity;  that  they  can  be  tamed  and  dis- 
armed by  such  vengeance  as  is  dictated  to  noble  foes  by  Chris- 
tian laws  ?" 

*'  I  think,"  said  Pandulfo,  after  a  pause,  "  that  it  will  not  be 
in  human  nature,  if  the  men  you  pardon,  thus  offending  and 
thus  convicted,  again  attempt  your  life  !  " 

"Methinks,"  said  Rienzi,  "  we  must  do  even  more  than  par- 
don. The  first  great  Caesar,  when  he  did  not  crush  a  foe, 
strove  to  convert  him  to  a  friend — " 

"  And  perished  by  the  attempt,"  said  Baroncelli  abruptly. 

Rienzi  started  and  changed  color. 

"  If  you  would  save  these  wretched  prisoners,  better  not 
wait  till  the  fury  of  the  mob  become  ungovernable,"  whispered 
Pandulfo. 

The  Tribune  roused  himself  from  his  revery. 

"Pandulfo,"  said  he,  in  the  same  tone,  "my  heart  misgives 
me — the  brood  of  serpents  are  in  my  hand — I  do  not  strangle 
them — they  may  sting  me  to  death,  in  return  for  my  mercy — 
It  is  their  instinct  !  No  matter:  it  shall  not  be  said  that  the 
Roman  Tribune  bought  with  so  many  lives  his  own  safety  : 
nor  shall  it  be  written  upon  my  gravestone:  *  Here  lies  the 
coward,  who  did  not  dare  forgive.*  What,  ho,  there  !  officers, 
unclose  the  doors  !  My  masters,  let  us  acquaint  the  prisoners 
with  their  sentence." 

With  that,  Rienzi  seated  himself  on  the  chair  of  state,  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  and  the  sun,  now  risen,  cast  its  rays  over  the 
blood-red  walls,  in  which  the  barons,  marshalled  in  order  into 
ihe  chamber,  thought  to  read  their  fate. 

My  lords,"  said  the  Tribune,  "ye  have  offended  the  laws 
'„k  God  and  man  ;  but  God  teaches  man  the  quality  of  mercy. 
Learn,  at  last,  that  I  bear  a  charmed  life.  Nor  is  he  whom, 
for  high  purposes.  Heaven  hath  raised  from  the  cottage  to  the 
•Dopular  throne,  v/ithout  invisible  aid  and  spiritual  protection. 
.i  hereditary  monarchs  are  deemed  sacred,  how  much  more  one 
in  whose  power  the  Divine  hand  hath  writ  its  witness !  Yes, 
over  him  who  lives  but  for  his  country,  whose  greatness  is  his 
country's  gift,  whose  life  is  his  country's  liberty,  watch  the 
souls  of  the  just,  and  the  unsleeping  eyes  of  the  sworded  sera- 
phim !  Taught  by  your  late  failure  and  your  present  peril,  bid 
your  anger  against  me  cease  ;  respect  the  laws,  revere  the  free- 
dom of  your  city,  and  think  that  no  State  presents  a  nobler 
BptctAcle  than  men  borft  as  yr.  Ave— a  patrician  c:nd  illustrious 
^%l«r*«-wsirvgyour  oower  \s^  {>rotect  your  city,  your  wealth  to 


228  RIENZI, 

nurture  its  arts,  your  chivalry  to  protect  its  laws  !  Take  back 
your  swords  ;  and  the  first  man  who  strikes  against  the  liber- 
ties of  Rome,  let  him  be  your  victim  ;  even  though  that  victim 
be  the  Tribune.  Your  cause  has  been  tried  ;  your  sentence  is 
pronounced.  Renew  your  oath  to  forbear  all  hostility,  private 
or  public,  against  the  government  and  the  magistrates  of 
Rome,  and  ye  are  pardoned — ye  are  free  !  " 

Amazed,  bewildered,  the  barons  mechanically  bent  the  knee  ; 
the  friars  who  had  received  their  confessions  administered  the 
appointed  oath  ;  and  while,  wdth  white  lips,  they  muttered  the 
solemn  words,  they  heard  below  the  roar  of  the  multitude  for 
their  blood. 

This  ceremony  ended,  the  Tribune  passed  into  the  banquet- 
hall,  which  conducted  to  a  balcony,  whence  he  was  accustomed 
to  address  the  people,  and  never,  perhaps,  was  his  wonderful 
mastery  over  the  passions  of  an  audience  {ad  persuadejidum 
efficax  dictator^  quoque  dulcis  ac  lepidus)  *  more  greatly  needed 
or  more  eminently  shown,  than  on  that  day;  for  the  fury  of 
the  people  was  at  its  height,  and  it  was  long  ere  he  succeeded 
in  turning  it  aside.  Before  he  concluded,  however,  every 
wave  of  the  wild  sea  lay  hushed.  The  orator  lived  to  stand  on 
the  same  spot,  to  plead  for  a  life  nobler  than  those  he  now 
saved, — and  to  plead  unheard  and  in  vain  ! 

As  soon  as  the  Tribune  saw  the  favorable  moment  had  ar- 
rived, the  barons  were  admitted  into  the  balcony — in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  breathless  thousands,  they  solemnly  pledged  them- 
selves to  protect  the  Good  Estate.  And  thus  the  morning 
which  seemed  to  dawn  upon  their  execution  witnessed  their 
reconciliation  with  the  people. 

The  crowd  dispersed,  the  majority  soothed  and  pleased; 
the  more  sagacious  vexed  and  dissatisfied. 

"  He  has  but  increased  the  smoke  and  the  flame  which  he 
was  not  able  to  extinguish,"  growled  Cecco  del  Vecchio  ;  and 
the  smith's  appropriate  saying  passed  into  a  proverb  and  a 
prophecy. 

Meanwhile,  the  Tribune,  conscious  at  least  that  he  had  taken 
the  more  generous  course,  broke  up  the  Council,  r.nd  retired 
to  the  chamber  where  Nina  and  his  sister  waited  him.  These 
beautiful  young  women  had  conceived  for  each  other  the  ten- 
derest  affection.  And  their  differing  characters,  both  of  mind 
and  feature,  seemed  by  contrast  to  heighten  the  charms  ol 
both  ;  as  in  a  skilful  jewelry,  the  pearl  and  the  diamond  bor 
row  beauty  from  «*fteh  other. 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  3^9 

And  as  Irene  now  turned  her  pale  countenance  and  stream- 
ing eyes  from  the  bosom  to  which  she  had  clung  for  support, 
the  timid  sister,  anxious,  doubtful,  wistful ;  the  proud  wife, 
sanguine  and  assured,  as  if  never  diffident  of  the  intentions 
ncr  of  the  power  of  her  Rienzi — the  contrast  would  have  fur- 
nished to  a  painter  no  unworthy  incarnation  of  the  Love  that 
hopeth,  and  the  Love  that  feareth,  all  things. 

''  Be  cheered,  my  sweet  sister,"  said  the  Tribune,  first  caught 
by  Irene's  imploring  look  ;  *'not  a  hair  on  the  heads  of  those 
who  boast  the  name  of  him  thou  lovest  so  well  is  injured. 
Thank  Heaven,"  as  his  sister,  with  a  low  cry,  rushed  into  his 
arms,  "  that  it  was  against  my  life  they  conspired !  Had  it 
been  another  Roman's,  mercy  might  have  been  a  crime  !  Dear- 
est, may  Adrian  love  thee  half  as  well  as  I  :  and  yet,  my  sister 
and  my  child,  none  can  know  thy  soft  soul  like  he  who  watched 
over  it  since  its  first  blossom  expanded  to  the  sun.  My  poor 
brother  !  had  he  lived,  your  counsel  had  been  his ;  and  me- 
thinks  his  gentle  spirit  often  whispers  away  the  sternness 
which,  otherwise,  would  harden  over  mine.  Nina,  my  queen, 
my  inspirer,  my  monitor,  ever  thus  let  thy  heart,  masculine  in 
my  distress,  be  woman's  in  my  power ;  and  be  to  me,  with 
Irene,  upon  earth,  what  my  brother  is  in  heaven  ! " 

The  Tribune,  exhausted  by  the  trials  of  the  night,  retired 
for  a  few  hours  to  rest ;  and  as  Nina,  encircling  him  within  her 
arms,  watched  over  his  noble  countenance — care  hushed,  am- 
bition laid  at  rest — its  serenity  had  something  almost  of  sub- 
lime. And  tears  of  that  delicious  pride,  which  woman  sheds 
for  the  hero  of  her  dreams,  stood  heavy  in  the  wife's  eyes,  as 
she  rejoiced  more,  in  the  deep  stillness  of  her  heart,  at  the  pre- 
rogative, alone  hers,  of  sharing  his  solitary  hours,  than  in  all  the 
rank  to  which  his  destiny  had  raised  her,  and  which  her  nature 
fitted  her  at  once  to  adorn  and  to  enjoy.  In  that  calm  and 
lonely  hour  she  beguiled  her  heart  by  waking  dreams,  vainer 
than  the  sleeper's  ;  and  pictured  to  herself  the  long  career  of 
glory,  the  august  decline  of  peace,  which  were  to  await  her 
lord. 

And  while  she  thus  watched  and  thus  dreamed,  the  cloud, 
as  yet  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  darkened  the  horizon  of  a 
fate  whose  sunshine  was  well-nigh  past ! 


23^  RiENZi, 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE    FLIGHT. 

Fretting  his  proud  heart,  as  a  steed  frets  on  the  bit,  old 
Colonna  regained  his  palace.  To  him,  innocent  of  the  pro- 
posed crime  of  his  kin  and  compeers,  the  whole  scene  of  the 
night  and  morning  presented  but  one  feature  of  insult  and 
degradation.  Scarce  was  he  in  his  palace,  ere  he  ordered 
couriers,  in  whom  he  knew  he  could  confide,  to  be  in  prepara- 
tion for  his  summons.  "  This  to  Avignon,"  said  he  to  himself, 
as  he  concluded  an  epistle  to  the  Pontiff.  "We  will  see 
whether  the  friendship  of  the  great  house  of  the  Colonna  will 
outweigh  the  frantic  support  of  the  rabble's  puppet.  This  to 
Palestrina, — the  rock  is  inaccessible  !  This  to  John  di  Vico, 
he  may  be  relied  upon,  traitor  though  he  be !  This  to  Naples; 
the  Colonna  will  disown  the  Tribune's  ambassador,  if  he  throw 
not  up  the  trust  and  hasten  thither,  not  a  lover  but  a  soldier  I 
And  may  this  find  Walter  de  Montreal !  Ah,  a  precious  mes- 
senger he  sent  us,  but  I  will  forgive  all — all,  for  a  thousand 
lances."  And  with  his  trembling  hands  he  twined  the  silk 
round  his  letters,  he  bade  his  pages  invite  to  his  board,  next 
day,  all  the  signors  who  had  been  implicated  with  him  on  the 
previous  night. 

The  barons  came — far  more  enraged  at  the  disgrace  of  par- 
don, than  grateful  for  the  boon  of  mercy.  Their  fears  com- 
bined with  their  pride ;  and  the  shouts  of  the  mob,  the  whine 
of  the  cordeliers,  still  ringing  in  their  ears,  they  deemed  united 
resistance  the  only  course  left  to  protect  their  lives,  and  avenge 
their  affront. 

To  them  the  public  pardon  of  the  Tribune  seemed  only  a 
disguise  to  private  revenge.  All  they  believed  was,  that  Rienzi 
did  not  dare  to  destroy  them  in  the  face  of  day  ;  forgetfulness 
and  forgiveness  appeared  to  them  as  the  means  designed  to  lull 
their  vigilance,  while  abasing  their  pride  :  and  the  knowledge 
of  crime  detected  forbade  them  all  hope  of  safety.  The  hand 
of  their  own  assassin  might  be  armed  against  them,  or  they 
might  be  ruined  singly,  one  by  one,  as  was  the  common  tyrant- 
craft  of  that  day.  Singularly  enough,  Luca  di  Savelli  was  the 
most  urgent  for  immediate  rebellion.  The  fear  of  death  made 
the  coward  brave. 

Unable  even  to  conceive  the  romantic  generosity  of  the 
Tribune,  the  barons  were  yet  more  alarmed  when,  the  next  day^ 


THE    LAST   O^   THt   TRIBUNES.  23 1 

Rienzi,  summoning  them  one  by  one  to  a  private  audience, 
presented  them  with  gifts,  and  bade  them  forget  fhe  past  : 
excused  himself  rather  than  them,  and  augmented  their  offices 
and  honors. 

In  the  Quixotism  of  a  heart  to  which  royalty  was  natural,  he 
thought  that  there  was  no  medium  course  ;  and  that  the  enmity 
he  would  not  silence  by  death,  he  could  crush  by  confidence 
and  favors.  Such  conduct  from  a  born  king  to  hereditary  in- 
feriors might  have  been  successful  ;  but  the  generosity  of  one 
who  has  abruptly  risen  over  his  lords  is  but  the  ostentation  of 
insult.  Rienzi  in  this,  and,  perhaps,  in  forgiveness  itself,  com- 
mitted a  fatal  error  oi  policy^  which  the  dark  sagacity  of  a  Vis- 
conti,  or,  in  later  times,  of  a  Borgia,  would  never  have  perpe- 
trated.    But  it  was  the  error  of  a  bright  and  a  great  mind. 

Nina  was  seated  in  the  grand  saloon  of  the  palace — it  was 
the  day  of  reception  for  the  Roman  ladies. 

The  attendance  was  so  much  less  numerous  than  usual  that 
it  startled  her,  and  she  thought  there  was  a  coldness  and  re- 
straint in  the  manner  of  the  visitors  present  which  somewhat 
stung  her  vanity. 

"  1  trust  we  have  not  offended  the  Signora  Colonna,"  she 
said  to  the  Lady  of  Gianni,  Stephen's  son.  *'She  was  wont  to 
grace  our  halls,  and  we  miss  much  her  stately  presence." 

*' Madam,  my  Lord's  mother  is  unwell  !  " 

*'  Is  she  so  ?  We  will  send  for  her  more  welcome  news. 
Methinks  we  are  deserted  to-day." 

As  she  spoke,  she  carelessly  dropped  her  handkerchief ;  the 
haughty  dame  of  the  Colonna  bent  not — not  a  hand  stirred  ; 
and  the  Tribunessa  looked  for  a  moment  surprised  and  discon- 
certed. Her  eyes  roving  over  the  throng,  she  perceived  sev- 
eral, whom  she  knew  as  the  wives  of  Rienzi's  foes,  whispering 
together  with  meaning  glances,  and  more  than  one  malicious 
sneer  at  her  mortification  was  apparent.  She  recovered  herself 
instantly,  and  said  to  the  Signora  Frangipani,  with  a  smile, 
"May  we  be  a  partaker  of  your  mirth  ?  You  seem  to  have 
chanced  on  some  gay  thought,  which  it  were  a  sin  not  to  share 
freely." 

The  lady  she  addressed  colored  slightly,  and  replied,  "  We 
were  thinking,  madam,  that  had  the  Tribune  been  present,  his 
vow   of  knighthood  would   have  been  called  into  requisition." 

"  And  how,  signora  ?  " 

"It  would  have  been  his  pleasing  duty,  madam,  to  succor 
the  distressed."  And  the  signora  glanced  significantly  on  the 
Kerchief  still  on  the  floor. 


232  RIENZI, 

"You  designed  me,  then,  this  slight,  signoras,"  said  Nina, 
rising  with  great  majesty.  "I  know  not  whether  your  lords  are 
equally  bold  to  the  Tribune  ;  but  this  I  know,  that  the  Trib- 
une's wife  can  in  future  forgive  your  absence.  Four  centuries 
ago,  a  Frangipan'  might  well  have  stooped  to  a  Raselli  ;  to-day, 
the  dame  of  a  Roman  baron  might  acknowledge  a  superior  in 
the  wife  of  the  first  magistrate  of  Rome.  I  compel  not  your 
courtesy,  nor  seek  it." 

"  We  have  gone  too  far,"  whispered  one  of  the  ladies  to  her 
neighbor.  "Perhaps  the  enterprise  may  not  succeed;  and 
then— " 

Further  remark  was  cut  short  by  the  sudden  entrance  of  the 
Tribune.  He  entered  with  great  haste,  and  on  his  brow  was 
that  dark  frown  which  none  ever  saw  unquailing. 

"  How,  fair  matrons  !  "  said  he,  looking  round  the  room  with 
a  rapid  glance,  "  ye  have  not  deserted  us  yet  ?  By  the  blessed 
cross,  your  lords  pay  a  compliment  to  our  honor,  to  leave  us 
such  lovely  hostages,  or  else,  God's  truth,  they  are  ungrateful 
husbands.  So,  madam,"  turning  sharp  round  to  the  v/ife  of 
Gianni  Colonna,  "your  husband  is  fled  to  Palestrina  ;  yours, 
Signora  Orsini,  to  Marino  ;  yours  with  him,  fair  bride  of 
Frangipani  ;  ye  came  hither  to —  But  ye  are  sacred  even  from 
a  word  !  " 

The  Tribune  paused  a  moment,  evidently  striving  to  suppress 
his  emotion,  as  he  observed  the  terror  he  had  excited  ;  his  eye 
fell  upon  Nina,  who,  forgetting  her  previous  vexation,  regarded 
him  with  anxious  amazement.  "  Yes,"  said  he  to  her,  "  you 
alone,  perhaps,  of  this  fair  assemblage,  know  not  that  the  nobles 
whom  I  lately  released  from  the  headsman's  gripe  are  a  second 
time  forsworn.  They  have  left  home  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 
and  already  the  heralds  proclaim  them  traitors  and  rebels. 
Rienzi  forgives  no  fnore  !'' 

"Tribune,"  exclaimed  the  Signora  Frangipani,  who  had  more 
bold  blood  in  her  veins  than  her  whole  house,  "  were  I  of  thine 
own  sex,  I  would  cast  the  words,  Traitor  and  Rebel,  given  to 
my  lord,  in  thine  own  teeth  !  Proud  man,  the  Pontiff  soon  will 
fulfil  that  office  !  " 

"Your  lord  is  blest  with  a  dove,  fair  one,"  said  the  Tribune 
scornfully.  "  Ladies,  fear  not  ;  while  Rienzi  lives,  the  wife 
even  of  his  worst  foe  is  safe  and  honored.  The  crowd  will  be 
here  anon  ;  our  guards  shall  attend  ye  home  in  safety,  or  this 
palace  may  be  your  shelter — for,  I  warn  ye,  that  your  lords 
have  rushed  into  a  great  peril.  And  ere  many  days  be  past, 
the  streets  of  Rome  may  be  as  rivers  of  blood." 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  233 

"We  accept  your  offer,  Tribune,"  said  the  Signora  Frangi- 
pani,  who  was  touched,  and,  in  spite  of  herself,  awed  by  the 
Tribune's  manner.  And  as  she  spoke,  she  dropped  on  one 
knee,  picked  up  the  kerchief,  and,  presenting  it  respectfully  to 
Nina,  said,  *'  Madam,  forgive  me.  I  alone  of  these  present 
respect  you  more  in  danger  than  in  pride." 

"And  I,"  returned  Nina,  as  she  leaned  in  graceful  confidence 
on  Rienzi's  arm,  "1  reply,  that  if  there  be  danger,  the  more 
need  of  pride." 

All  that  day  and  all  that  night  rang  the  great  bell  of  the 
Capitol.  But  on  the  following  daybreak,  the  assemblage  was 
thin  and  scattered  ;  there  was  a  great  fear  stricken  into  the 
hearts  of  the  people  by  the  flight  of  the  barons,  and  they  bit- 
terly and  loudly  upbraided  Rienzi  for  sparing  them  to  this  op- 
portunity of  mischief.  That  day  the  rumors  continued ;  the 
murmurers  for  the  most  part  remained  within  their  houses, 
or  assembled  in  listless  and  discontented  troops.  The 
next  day  dawned ;  the  same  lethargy  prevailed.  The  Tri- 
bune summoned  his  Council  (which  was  a  Representative 
assembly). 

"  Shall  we  go  forth  as  we  are,"  said  he,  "  with  such  few  as 
will  follow  the  Roman  standard?" 

"No,"  replied  Pandulfo,  who,  by  nature  timid,  was  yet  well 
acquainted  with  the  disposition  of  the  people,  and  therefore  a 
sagacious  counsellor.  "  Let  us  hold  back  ;  let  us  wait  till 
the  rebels  commit  themselves  by  some  odious  outrage, 
and  then  hatred  will  unite  the  waverers,  and  resentment  lead 
them." 

This  counsel  prevailed  ;  the  event  proved  its  wisdom.  To 
give  excuse  and  dignity  to  the  delay,  messengers  were 
sent  to  Marino,  whither  the  chief  part  of  the  barons  had 
fled,  and  which  was  strongly  fortified,  demanding  immediate 
return. 

On  the  day  on  which  the  haughty  refusal  of  the  insurgents 
was  brought  to  Rienzi,  came  fugitives  from  all  parts  of  the 
Campagna.  Houses  burned — convents  and  vineyards  pillaged — 
cattle  and  horses  seized — attested  the  warfare  practised  by 
the  barons,  and  animated  the  drooping  Romans,  by  showing 
the  mercies  they  might  expect  for  themselves.  That  evening, 
of  their  own  accord,  the  Romans  rushed  into  the  place  of  the 
Capitol.  RinaldoOrsini  had  seized  a  fortress  in  the  immediate 
neighborhood  of  Rome,  and  had  set  fire  to  a  tower,  the  flames 
of  which  were  visible  to  the  city.  The  tenant  of  the  tower,  a 
noble  lady,  old  and  widowed,  was  burnt  alive.     Then  rose  th^ 


234  RIENZr, 

wild  clamor— the  mighty  wrath — the  headlong  fury.     The  hour 
for  action  had  arrived.* 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   BATTLE. 

^*I  HAVE  dreamed  a  dream,"  varied  Rienzi,  leaping  from  his 
oed.  "The  lion-hearted  Boniface,  foe  and  victim  of  the 
Colonna,  hath  appeared  to  me,  and  promised  victory. f  Nina, 
prepare  the  laurel-wreath  ;  this  day  victory  shall  be  ours  !  " 

"  Oh,  Rienzi !  to-day  !  " 

"  Yes  !  hearken  to  the  bell  !  hearken  to  the  trumpet.  Nay, 
I  hear  even  now  the  impatient  hoofs  of  my  white  war-steed  ! 
One  kiss,  Nina,  ere  I  arm  for  victory;  stay — comfort  poor 
Irene  ;  let  me  not  see  her  ;  she  weeps  that  my  foes  are  akin  to 
her  betrothed  ;  I  cannot  brook  her  tears  ;  I  watched  her  in  her 
cradle.  To-day,  I  must  have  no  weakness  on  my  soul  !  Knaves 
twice  perjured !  wolves,  never  to  be  tamed  !  shall  I  meet  ye  at 
last  sword  to  sword  ?  Away,  sweet  Nina,  to  Irene,  quick ! 
Adrian  is  at  Naples,  and  were  he  in  Rome,  her  lover  is  sacred, 
though  fifty  times  a  Colonna." 

With  that  the  Tribune  passed  into  his  wardrobe,  where  his 
pages  and  gentlemen  attended  with  his  armor.  "  I  hear,  by 
our  spies,"  said  he,  "that  they  will  be  at  our  gates  ere  noon  ; 
four  thousand  foot,  seven  hundred  horsemen.  We  will  give 
them  a  hearty  welcome,  my  masters.  How  Angelo  Villani, 
my  pretty  page,  what  do  you  out  of  your  lady's  service  ? " 

"  I  would  fain  see  a  warrior  arm  for  Rome,"  said  the  boy, 
with  a  boy's  energy. 

"  Bless  thee,  my  child  ;  there  spoke  one  of  Rome's  true 
sons  ! 

"  And  the  signora  has  promised  me  that  I  shall  go  with  her 
guard  to  the  gates,  to  hear  the  news — " 

"  And  report  the  victory?  Thou  shalt.  But  they  must  not 
let  thee  come  within  shaft-shot.  What  !  my  Pandulfo,  thou  in 
mail  ? " 

"  Rome  requires  every  man,"  said  the  citizen,  whose  weak 

*  "  Ardea  terre,  arse  la  Castelluzza  e  case,  e  uomini.  Non  si  schifo  di  ardere  una  nobile 
donna  Vedova,  veterana,  in  una  torre.  Per  tale  crudeltade  li  Romani  furo  piu  irati,"  etc 
Vita  di  C.  di  Rienzi,  lib.  i.  cap.  20. 

%  "  {d  questa  noUe  mi  h  apparito  Santo  Bonifa<;io  Papa,"?tc. — Vit,  di  Col.  Rien  nCap.  32^ 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  235 

nerves  were  strung  by  the  contagion  of  the  general  enthusi- 
asm, 

"  She  doth — and  once  more  I  am  proud  to  be  a  Roman. 
Now,  gentles,  the  Dalmaticum  ;*  I  would  that  every  foe  should 
know  Rienzi ;  and,  by  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  fighting  at  the  head 
of  the  imperial  people,  I  have  a  right  to  the  imperial  robe. 
Are  the  friars  prepared?  Our  march  to  the  gates  shall  be  pre- 
ceded by  a  solemn  hymn — so  fought  our  sires." 

"  Tribune,  John  di  Vico  has  arrived  with  a  hundred  iiorse  to 
support  the  Good  Estate." 

"  He  hath  !  The  Lord  has  delivered  us  then  of  a  foe,  and 
given  our  dungeons  a  traitor  !  Bring  hither  yon  casket.  An- 
gelo.     So — hark  thee  !     Pandulfo,  read  this  letter." 

The  citizen  read,  with  surprise  and  consternation,  th^ 
answer  of  the  wily  prefect  to  the  Colonna's  epistle. 

"  He  promises  the  Baron  to  desert  to  him  in  the  battle,  with 
the  Prefect's  banner,"  said  Pandulfo.  *'  What  is  to  be 
done  ?  " 

"  What  ! — take  my  signet — here — see  him  lodged  forthwith 
in  the  prison  of  the  Capitol.  Bid  his  train  leave  Rome,  and  if 
found  acting  with  the  barons,  warn  them  that  their  lord  dies. 
Go — see  to  it  without  a  moment's  delay.  Meanwhile,  to  the 
chapel  ;  we  will  hear  mass." 

Within  an  hour  the  Roman  army — vast,  miscellaneous — old 
men  and  boys,  mingled  with  the  vigor  of  life,  were  on  their 
march  to  the  Gate  of  San  Lorenzo  ;  of  their  number,  which 
amounted  to  twenty  thousand  foot,  not  one-sixth  could  be 
deemed  men-at-arms  ;  but  the  cavalry  were  well  equipped,  and 
consisted  of  the  lesser  barons  and  the  more  opulent  citizens. 
At  the  head  of  these  rode  the  Tribune  in  complete  armor,  and 
wearing  on  his  casque  a  wreath  of  oak  and  olive  leaves  wrought 
in  silver.  Before  him  waved  the  great  gonfalon  of  Rome, 
while  in  front  of  this  multitudinous  array  marched  a  procession 
of  monks,  of  the  order  of  St.  Francis  (for  the  ecclesiastical 
body  of  Rome  went  chiefly  with  the  popular  spirit,  and  its  en- 
thusiastic leader),  slowly  chanting  the  following  hymn,  which 
was  made  inexpressibly  startling  and  imposing  at  the  close  of 
each  stanza,  by  the  clash  of  arms,  the  blast  of  trumpets,  and  the 
deep  roll  of  the  drum  ;  which  formed,  as  it  were,  a  martial 
chorus  to  the  song  : 

*  A  robe  or  mantle  of  white,  borne  by  Rienzi ;  at  one  time  belonging  to  the  sacerdotal 
•ffice,  afterwards  an  emblem  of  empire. 


236  RIENZI, 

ROMAN  WAR-SONG.  1 

I. 

March,  march  for  your  hearths  and  your  altars? 
Cursed  to  all  time  be  the  dastard  that  falters, 
Never  on  earth  may  his  sins  be  forgiven. 
Death  on  his  soul,  shut  the  portals  of  heaven  ! 
A  curse  on  his  heart,  and  a  curse  on  his  brain  ! 
Whc  strikes  not  for  Rome,  shall  to  Rome  be  her  CaSmt 
Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears^ 
Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliers  !  * 
Blow,  trumpets,  blow, 
Blow,  trumpets,  blow, 

Gaily  to  glory  we  come  ; 
Like  a  king  in  his  pomp, 
To  the  blast  of  the  tromp, 

And  the  roar  of  the  mighty  drum ! 
Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears» 
Spirito  Santo^  Cavaliers  ! 

II. 
March,  march  for  your  Freedom  and  Laws  ! 
Earth  is  your  witness — all  Earth's  is  your  cause! 
Seraph  and  saint  from  their  glory  shall  heed  ye, 
The  angel  that  smote  the  Assyrian  shall  lead  ye 
To  the  Christ  of  the  Cross  man  is  never  so  holy 
As  in  braving  the  proud  in  defence  of  the  lowly  ! 
Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears* 
Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliers  ! 
Blow,  trumpets,  blow. 
Blow,  trumpets,  blow, 

Gaily  to  glory  we  come  ; 
Like  a  king  in  his  pomp, 
To  the  blast  of  the  tromp, 

And  the  roar  of  the  mighty  drum  ! 
Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears, 
Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliers  ! 

III. 
March,  march  !  ye  are  sons  of  the  Roman, 
The  sound  of  whose  step  was  as  fate  to  the  foeman ! 
Whose  realm,  save  the  air  and  the  wave,  had  no  wall. 
As  he  strode  through  the  world  like  a  lord  in  his  hall ; 
Though  your  fame  hath  sunk  down  to  the  night  of  the  grare 
It  shall  ri-^e  from  the  field  like  the  sun  from  the  wave. 
Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears, 
Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliers  / 
Blow,  trumpets,  blow. 
Blow,  trumpets,  blow, 
Gaily  to  glory  we  come  ; 

"  •Rienzf's  -vford  of  battle  \V3&  Spirito  Cavilei-e,  i.e.,  Cavalier  in  the  singular  nnmber. 
ihe  pKiral  iiuniber  has  been  eniployell  in  the  text,  as  somewhat  more  animated,  and  there- 
fere  better  ada|>ted  to  r'ue  kind  of  poetry  into  the  service  of  which  the  watchword  has  beea 
pressed. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  237 

Like  a  king  in  his  pomp, 

To  the  blast  of  the  tromp, 

And  the  roar  of  the  mighty  drum  J 
Breeze  fill  our  banners,  sun  gild  our  spears, 
Spirito  Santo,  Cavaliers  ! 

In  this  order  they  reached  the  wide  waste  that  ruin  and 
devastation  left  within  the  gates,  and,  marshalled  in  long  lines 
on  either  side,  extending  far  down  the  vistaed  streets,  and 
leaving  a  broad  space  in  the  centre,  awaited  the  order  of  their 
leader. 

"  Throw  open  the  gates  and  admit  the  foe  !  "  cried 
Rienzi,  with  a  loud  voice  ;  as  the  trumpets  of  the  barons 
announced  their  approach. 

Meanwhile  the  insurgent  patricians,  who  had  marched  that 
morning  from  a  place  called  the  Monument,  four  miles  distant, 
came  gallantly  and  boldly  on. 

With  old  Stephen,  whose  great  height,  gaunt  frame,  and 
lordly  air  showed  well  in  his  gorgeous  mail,  rode  his  sons 
the  Frangipani  and  the  Savelli,  and  Giordano  Orsini,  brother 
to  Rinaldo. 

"  To-day  the  tyrant  shall  perish  !  "  said  the  proud  Baron  ; 
"and  the  flag  of  the  Colonna  shall  wave  from  the  Capitol." 

"  The  flag  of  the  Bear,"  said  Giordano  Orsini  angrily.  "  The 
victory  will  not  h^  yours  alone,  my  lord  !  " 

*'Our  house  ever  took  precedence  in  Rome,"  replied  the 
Colonna  haughtily. 

*'  Never,  while  one  stone  of  the  palaces  of  the  Orsini  stands 
upon  another." 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Luca  di  Savelli  ;  **  are  ye  dividing  the  skin 
while  the  lion  lives?    We  shall  have  fierce  work  to-day." 

"  Not  so,"  said  the  old  Colonna  ;  "  John  di  Vico  will  turn, 
with  his  Romans,  at  the  first  onset,  and  some  of  the  malcon- 
tents within  have  promised  to  open  the  gates.  How,  knave?" 
as  a  scout  rode  up  breathless  to  the  Baron.     "  What  tidings  ?  " 

**  The  gates  are  opened  ;  not  a  spear  gleams  from  the 
walls  !  " 

**  Did  I  not  tell  ye,  lords?"  said  the  Colonna,  turning  round 
triumphantly.  "  Methinks  we  shall  win  Rome  without  a  single 
blow.  Grandson,  where  now  are  thy  silly  forebodings  ?  "  This 
was  said  to  Pietro,  one  of  his  grandsons — the  first-born  of 
Gianni — a  comely  youth,  n.ot  two  weeks  wedded,  who  made  no 
reply.  "My  little  Pietro  here,"  continued  the  Baron,  speaking 
to  his  comrades,  "is  so  new  a  bridegroom,  that  last  night  h« 
dreamed  of  his  bride  f  «nd  dfetn§  i\^  i^oor  kd^  a  portent/' 


233  RIENZI, 

"She  was  in  deep  mourning,  and  glided  from  my  arms» 
uttering,  *  Woe,  woe,  to  the  Colonna  !  '  "  said  the  young  man 
solemnly. 

"I  have  lived  nearly  ninety  years,"  replied  the  old  man, 
"  and  1  may  have  dreamed,  therefore,  some  forty  thousand 
dreams  ;  of  which,  two  came  true,  and  the  rest  were  false. 
Judge,  then,  what  chances  are  in  favor  of  the  science  !  " 

Thus  conversing  they  approached  within  bow-shot  of  the 
gates,  which  were  still  open.  All  was  silent  as  death.  The 
army,  which  was  composed  chiefly  of  foreign  mercenaries, 
halted  in  deliberation — when,  lo  !  a  torch  was  suddenly  cast  on 
high  over  the  walls  ;  it  gleamed  a  moment,  and  then  hissed  in 
the  miry  pool  below. 

"  It  is  the  signal  of  our  friends  within,  as  agreed  on,"  cried 
old  Colonna.  "  Pietro,  advance  with  your  company  !  "  The 
young  nobleman  closed  his  visor,  put  himself  at  the  head  of 
the  band  under  his  command ;  and,  with  his  lance  in  his  rest, 
rode  in  a  half  gallop  to  the  gates.  The  morning  had  been 
clouded  and  overcast,  and  the  sun,  appearing  only  at  intervals, 
now  broke  out  in  a  bright  stream  of  light,  as  it  glittered  on 
the  waving  plume  and  shining  mail  of  the  young  horseman, 
disappearing  under  the  gloomy  arch,  several  paces  in  advance 
of  his  troop.  On  swept  his  followers  ;  forward  went  the 
cavalry  headed  by  Gianni  Colonna,  Pietro's  father.  There 
was  a  minute's  silence,  broken  only  by  the  clatter  of  the  arms 
and  tramp  of  hoofs,  when  from  within  the  walls  rose  the  abrupt 
cry :  "  Rome,  the  Tribune,  and  the  People !  Spirito  Santo^ 
Cavaliers ! "  The  main  body  halted  aghast.  Suddenly 
Gianni  Colonna  was  seen  flying  backward  from  the  gate  at 
full  speed. 

*'  My  son,  my  son  !  "  he  cried,  "they  have  murdered  him"; 
he  halted  abrupt  and  irresolute,  then  adding,  *'  But  I  will 
avenge  !  "  wheeled  round,  and  spurred  again  through  the  arch, — 
when  a  huge  machine  of  iron,  shaped  as  a  portcullis,  sud- 
denly descended  upon  the  unhappy  father,  and  crushed  man 
and  horse  to  the  ground — one  blent,  mangled,  bloody  mass. 

The  old  Colonna  saw,  and  scarce  believed  his  eyes  ;  and  ere 
his  troop  recovered  its  stupor,  the  machine  rose,  and  over  the 
corpse  dashed  the  Popular  Armament.  Thousands  upon 
thousands,  they  came  on  ;  a  wild,  clamorous,  roaring  stream. 
They  poured  on  all  sides  upon  their  enemies,  who,  drawn  up 
in  steady  discipline,  and  clad  in  complete  mail,  received  and 
broke  their  charge. 

'*  il;.«v«n4|c,  end  the  Colonaa i  "     "*  The  B©ar  and  the  Orsini  1  *' 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  2^^ 

** Charity  and  the  Frangipani  • "  *  "Strike  for  the  Snake  |' 
and  the  Savelli  ! "  were  then  heard  on  high,  mingled  with  the 
German  and  hoarse  shout,  '*  Full  purses,  and  the  Three  Kings 
of  Cologne."  The  Romans,  rather  ferocious  than  disciplined, 
fell  butchered  in  crowds  round  the  ranks  of  the  mercenaries  ; 
but  as  one  fell  another  succeeded  ;  and  still  burst  with  undi- 
minished fervor  the  counter  cry  of  "Rome,  the  Tribune,  and 
the  People  !  Spirito  Santo^  Cavaliers !  "  Exposed  to  everv 
shaft  and  every  sword  by  his  emblematic  diadem  and  his 
imperial  robe,  the  fierce  Rienzi  led  on  each  assault,  wielding 
an  enormous  battle-axe,  for  the  use  of  which  the  Italians  were 
celebrated,  and  which  he  regarded  as  a  national  weapon. 
Inspired  by  every  darker  and  sterner  instinct  of  his  nature,  his 
blood  heated,  his  passions  aroused,  fighting  as  a  citizen  fcr 
liberty,  as  a  monarch  for  his  crown,  his  daring  seemed  to  the 
astonished  foe  as  that  of  one  frantic ;  his  preservation  that  of 
one  inspired  :  now  here,  now  there  ;  wherever  flagged  his  own, 
or  failed  the  opposing,  force,  glittered  his  white  robe,  and  rose 
his  bloody  battle-axe  ;  but  his  fury  seemed  rather  directed 
against  the  chiefs  than  the  herd  ;  and  still  where  his  charger 
wheeled  was  heard  his  voice,"  Where  is  a  Colonna  ?  " — "  Defiance 
to  the  Orsini !  " — ^''Spirito  Sanfo,  Cavaliers/''  Three  times 
was  the  sally  led  from  the  gate  ;  three  times  were  the  Romans 
beaten  back  ;  and  on  the  third,  the  gonfalon,  borne  before  the 
Tribune,  was  cloven  to  the  ground.  Then,  for  the  first  time, 
he  seemed  amazed  and  alarmed,  and,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven, 
he  exclaimed,  "  O  Lord,  hast  thou  then  forsaken  me?"  With 
that,  taking  heart,  once  more  he  waved  his  arm,  and  again  led 
forward  his  wild  array. 

At  eve  the  battle  ceased.  Of  the  barons  who  had  been  the 
main  object  of  the  Tribune's  assault,  the  pride  and  boast  was 
broken.  Of  the  princely  line  of  the  Colonna  three  lay  dead. 
Giordano  Orsini  was  mortally  wounded  ;  the  fierce  Rinaldo  had 
not  shared  the  conflict.  Of  the  Frangipani  the  haughtiest 
signors  were  no  more  ;  and  Luca,  the  dastard  head  of  the 
Savelli,  had  long  since  saved  himself  by  flight.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  slaughter  of  the  citizens  had  been  prodigious  ;  the 
ground  was  swamped  with  blood,  and  over  heaps  of  slain, 
(steeds  and  riders)  the  twilight  star  beheld  Rienzi  and  the 
Romans  returning  victors  from  the  pursuit.     Shouts  of  rejoic- 

*  Who  had  taken  their  motto  from  some  fabled  ancestor  who  had  broke  bread  with  a 
beggar  in  a  time  of  famine. 

t  The  Lion  was,  however,  the  animal  usually  arrogated  by  the  heraldic  vanity  of  th« 
Savelli. 


«40  RIENZI. 

ing  followed  the  Tribune's  panting  steed  through  the  arch  ;  and 
just  as  he  entered  the  space  within,  crowds  of  those  whose  in- 
firmities, sex,  or  years  had  not  allowed  them  to  share  the  con- 
flict, women  and  children,  and  drivelling  age,  mingled  with  the 
bare  feet  and  dark  robes  of  monks  and  friars — apprised  of  the 
victory,  were  prepared  to  hail  his  triumph. 

Rienzi  reined  his  steed  by  the  corpse  of  the  boy  Colonna, 
which  lay  half  immersed  in  a  pool  of  water,  and  close  by  it,  re- 
moved from  the  arch  where  he  had  fallen,  lay  that  of  Gianni 
Colonna  (that  Gianni  Colonna  whose  spear  had  dismissed  his 
brother's  gentle  spirit).  He  glanced  over  the  slain,  as  the 
melancholy  Hesperus  played  upon  the  bloody  pool  and  the 
gory  corselet,  with  a  breast  heaved  with  mnny  emotions;  and 
turning,  he  saw  the  young  Angelo,  who,  with  some  of  Nina's 
guard,  had  repaired  to  the  spot,  and  had  now  approached  the 
Tribune. 

"  Child,"  said  Rienzi,  pointing  to  the  dead,  "  blessed  art  thou 
who  hast  no  blood  of  kindred  to  avenge ! — to  him  who  hath, 
sooner  or  later  comes  the  hour  ;  and  an  awful  hour  it  is  ! " 

The  words  sank  deep  into  Angelo's  heart,  and  in  after-life 
became  words  of  fate  to  the  speaker  and  the  listener. 

Ere  Rienzi  had  well  recovered  himself,  and  as  were  heard 
around  him  the  shrieks  of  the  widows  and  mothers  of  the  slain, 
the  groans  of  the  dying,  the  exhortations  of  the  friars,  mingled 
with  sounds  of  joy  and  triumph — a  cry  was  raised  by  the  women 
and  stragglers  on  the  battle-field  without,  of  "  The  foe !  the 
foe  !  " 

"To  your  swords,"  cried  the  Tribune  ;  "  fall  back  in  order; 
yet  they  cannot  be  so  bold  !  " 

The  tramp  of  horses,  the  blast  of  a  trumpet,  were  heard  ;  and 
riesently,  at  full  speed,  some  thirty  horsemen  dashed  through 
the  gate. 

"Your  bows,"  exclaimed  the  Tribune,  advancing;  "yet 
hold — the  leader  is  unarmed — it  is  our  own  banner.  By  our 
Lady,  it  is  our  ambassador  of  Naples,  the  Lord  Adrian  di 
Castello." 

Panting — breathless — covered  with  dust — Adrian  halted  at 
the  pool  red  with  the  blood  of  his  kindred,  and  their  pale  faces, 
set  in  death,  glared  upon  him. 

"Too  late — alas  !  alas  !  dread  fate  !     Unhappy  Rome  :  ' 

*'  They  fell  into  the  pit  they  themselves  had  digged,"  said 
the  Tribune,  in  a  firm  but  hollow  voice.  "  Noble  Adrian, 
would  thy  counsels  had  prevented  this  !  " 

**  Away,  proud  man — away  !"  said  Adrian,  impatiently  wav 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  2^1 

ing  his  hand  ;  "  thou  shouldst  protect  the  lives  of  Romans, 
and — oh,  Gianni  ! — Pietro  ! — could  not  birth,  renown,  and  thy 
green  years,  poor  boy — could  not  these  save  ye  ?" 

"Pardon  him,  my  friends,"  said  the  Tribune  to  the  crowd — 
"  his  grief  is  natural,  and  he  knows  not  all  their  guilt.  Back, 
I  pray  ye — leave  him  to  our  ministering," 

It  might  have  fared  ill  for  Adrian  but  for  the  Tribune's  brief 
speech.  And  as  the  young  lord,  dismounting,  now  bent  over 
his  kinsmen,  the  Tribune,  also  surrendering  his  charger  to  his 
'squires,  approached,  and,  despite  Adrian's  reluctance  and 
aversion,  drew  him  aside  : 

"Young  friend,"  said  he  mournfully,  "my  heart  bleeds  for 
you ;  yet  bethink  thee,  the  wrath  of  the  crowd  is  fresh  upon 
them  ;  be  prudent." 

"  Prudent ! " 

"  Hush  !  By  my  honor,  these  men  were  not  worthy  of  your 
name.  Twice  perjured — once  assassins — twice  rebels — listen 
to  me  !  " 

"  Tribune,  I  ask  no  other  construing  of  what  I  see — they 
might  have  died  justly,  or  been  butchered  foully.  But  there  is 
no  peace  between  the  executioner  of  my  race  and  me." 

"  WiW you,  too,  be  forsworn?  Thine  oath  !  Come,  come,  I 
hear  not  these  words.  Be  composed — retire — and  if  three  days 
hence,  you  impute  any  other  blame  to  me  than  that  of  unwise 
lenity,  I  absolve  you  from  your  oath,  and  you  are  free  to  be  my 
foe.  The  crowd  gape  and  gaze  upon  us — a  minute  more,  and 
I  may  not  avail  to  save  you." 

The  feelings  of  the  young  patrician  were  such  as  utterly 
baffle  description.  He  had  never  been  much  amongst  his  house, 
nor  ever  received  more  than  common  courtesy  at  their  hands. 
But  lineage  is  lineage  still  !  And  there,  in  the  fatal  hazard  of 
war,  lay  the  tree  and  sapling,  the  prime  and  hope  of  his  race. 
He  felt  there  was  no  answer  to  the  Tribune,  the  very  place  of 
their  death  proved  they  had  fallen  in  an  assault  upon  their 
countrymen.  He  sympathized  not  with  their  cause,  but  their 
fate.  And  rage,  revenge  alike  forbidden,  his  heart  was  the 
more  softened  to  the  shock  and  paralysis  of  grief.  He  did  not 
therefore  speak,  but  continued  to  gaze  upon  the  dead,  while 
large  and  unheeded  tears  flowed  down  his  cheeks,  and  his  atti- 
tude of  dejection  and  sorrow  was  so  moving,  that  the  crowd,  at 
first  indignant,  now  felt  for  his  affliction.  At  length  his  mind 
seemed  made  up.  He  turned  to  Rienzi,  and  said,  falteringly, 
**  Tribune,  I  blame  you  not,  nor  accuse.  If  you  have  been 
rash  in  this,  God  will  ha.ve  blood  for  blood.     I  wage  no  war 


^42  RIENZI, 

with  you  ;  you  say  right,  my  oath  prevents  m6  ;  atid  if  yoU 
govern  well,  I  can  still  remember  that  I  am  Roman.  But — 
but — look  to  that  bleeding  clay — we  meet  no  more  !  Your 
sister — God  be  with  her  ! — between  her  and  me  flow^^  a  dark 
gulf!"  The  young  noble  paused  some  moments,  choked  by 
his  emotions,  and  then  continued  :  "  These  paueis  discharge 
me  of  my  mission.  Standard-bearers,  lav  down  the  banner  ol 
the  Republic.  Tribune,  speak  not — I  would  be  calm — calm. 
And  so  farewell  to  Rome."  With  a  hurried  glance  towards  the 
dead,  he  sprung  upon  his  steed,  and  followed  by  his  train, 
vanished  through  the  arch. 

The  Tribune  had  not  attempted  to  detain  him  ;  had  not 
interrupted  him.  He  felt  that  the  young  noble  had  thought- 
acted  as  became  him  best.     He  followed  him  with  his  eyes. 

"And  thus,"  said  he  gloomily,  "  Fate  plucks  from  me  my 
noblest  friend  and  my  justest  counsellor — a  better  man  Rome 
never  lost  ! " 

Suxh  is  the  eternal  doom  of  disordered  States.  The  medi- 
ator between  rank  and  rank, — the  kindly  noble — the  dispas- 
*)ionate  patriot — the  first  to  act — the  most  hailed  in  action— 
darkly  vanishes  from  the  scene.  Fiercer  and  more  unscrupu- 
(ous  spirits  alone  stalk  the  field  ;  and  no  neutral  and  harmon- 
izing link  remains  between  hate  and  hate,  until  exhaustion, 
sick  with  horrors,  succeeds  to  frenzy,  and  despotism  is  wel- 
comed as  repose  1 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   HOLLOWNESS  OF   THE   BASE. 

The  rapid  and  busy  march  of  state  events  has  led  us  long 
away  from  the  sister  of  the  Tribune  and  the  betrothed  of 
Adrian.  And  the  sweet  thoughts  and  gentle  day-dreams  of 
that  fair  and  enamoured  girl,  however  full  to  her  of  an  interest 
beyond  all  the  storms  and  perils  of  ambition,  are  not  so  readily 
adapted  to  narration :  their  soft  monotony  a  few  words  can 
paint.  They  knew  but  one  image,  they  tended  to  but  one 
prospect.  Shrinking  from  the  glare  of  her  brother's  court, 
and  eclipsed,  when  she  forced  herself  to  appear,  by  the  more 
matured  and  dazzling  beauty,  and  all-commanding  presence, 
of  Nina,  to  her  the  pomp  and  crowd  seemed  an  unreal  pageant, 
from  which  she  retired  to  the  truth  of  life, — the  hopes  and 
musings  of  her  own  heart.     Poor  girl !  with  all  the  soft  and 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  243 

tender  nature  of  her  dead  brother,  and  none  of  the  stern 
genius  and  the  prodigal  ambition, — the  eye-fatiguing  ostenta- 
tion and  fervor  of  the  living,  she  was  but  ill-fitted  for  the 
unquiet  but  splendid  region  to  which  she  was  thus  suddenly 
transferred. 

With  all  her  affection  for  Rienzi,  she  could  not  conquer  a 
certain  fear  which,  conjoined  with  the  difference  of  sex  and 
^ge,  forbade  her  to  be  communicative  with  him  upon  the 
subject  most  upon  her  heart. 

As  the  absence  of  Adrian  at  the  Neapolitan  Court  passed 
the  anticipated  date  (for  at  no  court  then,  with  a  throne  fiercely 
disputed,  did  the  Tribune  require  a  nobler  or  more  intelligent 
representative,  and  intrigues  and  counter-intrigues  delayed  his 
departure  from  week  to  week),  she  grew  uneasy  and  alarmed. 
Like  many,  themselves  unseen,  inactive,  the  spectators  of  the 
scene,  she  saw  involuntarily  further  into  the  time  than  the 
deeper  intellect  either  of  the  Tribune  or  Nina ;  and  the  dan- 
gerous discontent  of  the  nobles  was  visible  and  audible  to  her 
in  looks  and  whispers,  which  reached  not  acuter  or  more 
suspected  ears  and  eyes.  Anxiously,  restlessly,  did  she  long 
for  the  return  of  Adrian,  not  from  selfish  motives  alone,  but 
from  well-founded  apprehensions  for  her  brother.  With  Adrian 
di  Castello,  alike  a  noble  and  a  patriot,  each  party  had  found 
a  mediator,  and  his  presence  grew  daily  more  needed,  till  at 
length  the  conspiracy  of  the  barons  had  broken  out.  From 
that  hour  she  scarcely  dared  to  hope ;  her  calm  sense,  un- 
blinded  by  the  high-wrought  genius  which,  as  too  often  hap- 
pens, made  the  Tribune  see  harsh  realities  through  a  false  and 
brilliant  light,  perceived  that  the  Rubicon  was  passed  ;  and 
through  all  the  events  that  followed  she  could  behold  but  two 
images  :  danger  to  her  brother,  separation  from  her  betrothed. 

With  Nina  alone  could  her  full  heart  confer ;  for  Nina,  with 
all  the  differences  of  character,  was  a  woman  who  loved.  And 
this  united  them.  In  the  earlier  power  of  Rienzi,  many  of 
their  happiest  hours  had  been  passed  together,  remote  from 
the  gaudy  crowd,  alone  and  unrestrained,  in  the  summer 
nights,  on  the  moonlit  balconies,  in  that  interchange  of  thought, 
sympathy,  and  consolation,  which  to  two  impassioned  and 
guileless  women  makes  the  most  interesting  occupation  and 
the  most  effectual  solace.  But  of  late  this  intercourse  had 
been  much  marred.  From  the  morning  in  which  the  barons 
had  received  their  pardon,  to  that  on  which  they  had  marched 
on  Rome,  had  been  one  succession  of  fierce  excitements* 
^vny  fa^f  It^nis  saw  w^»  cityutdeti  and  overcast »  aU  gaiety 


f44  RIENZI, 

Tv^as  suspended  ;  bustling  and  anxious  councillors,  or  armed 
soldiers,  had  for  days  been  the  only  visitors  of  the  palace. 
Rienzi  had  been  seen  but  for  short  moments  :  his  brow  wrapt 
'in  care.  Nina  had  been  more  fond,  more  caressing  than  ever, 
but  in  those  caresses  there  seemed  a  mournful  and  ominous 
compassion.  The  attempts  at  comfort  and  hope  were  suc- 
ceeded by  a  sickly  smile  and  broken  words  ;  and  Irene  was 
prepared,  by  the  presentiments  of  her  own  heart,  for  the 
stroke  that  fell — victory  was  to  her  brother — his  foe  was 
crushed — Rome  was  free — but  the  lofty  house  of  the  Colonnas 
had  lost  its  stateliest  props,  and  Adrian  was  gone  forever  ! 
She  did  not  blame  him;  she  could  not  blame  her  brother ; 
each  had  acted  as  became  his  several  station.  She  was  the 
poor  sacrifice  of  events  and  fate — the  Iphigenia  to  the  Winds 
which  were  to  bear  the  bark  of  Rome  to  the  haven,  or,  it 
might  be,  to  whelm  it  in  the  abyss.  She  was  stunned  by  the 
blow ;  she  did  not  even  weep  or  complain  ;  she  bowed  to  the 
storm  that  swept  over  her,  and  it  passed.  For  two  days  she 
neither  took  food  nor  rest ;  she  shut  herself  up  ;  she  asked  only 
the  boon  of  solitude :  but  on  the  third  morning  she  recovered 
as  by  a  miracle,  for  on  the  third  morning  the  following  letter 
was  left  at  the  palace  : 

*' Irene:  Ere  this  you  have  learned  my  deep  cause  of 
grief  ;  you  feel  that  to  a  Colonna  Rome  can  no  longer  be  a 
dome,  nor  Rome's  Tribune  be  a  brother.  While  I  write  these 
words  honor  but  feebly  supports  me  :  all  the  hopes  I  had 
formed,  all  the  prospects  I  had  pictured,  all  the  love  I  bore 
and  bear  thee,  rush  upon  my  heart,  and  I  can  only  feel  that  I 
am  wretched.  Irene,  Irene,  your  sweet  face  rises  before  me, 
and  in  those  beloved  eyes  I  read  that  I  am  forgiven, — 1  am 
understood  ;  and  dearly  as  I  know  thou  lovest  me,  thou  wouldst 
rather  I  were  lost  to  thee,  rather  I  were  in  the  grave  with  my 
kinsmen,  than  know  I  lived  the  reproach  of  my  order,  the  recre- 
ant of  my  name.  Ah  !  why  was  I  a  Colonna?  why  did  Fortune 
make  me  noble,  and  nature  and  circumstance  attach  me  to 
the  people  ?  I  am  barred  alike  from  love  and  from  revenge  ; 
all  my  revenge  falls  upon  thee  and  me.  Adored  !  we  are  per- 
haps separated  forever ;  but,  by  all  the  happiness  I  have  known 
by  thy  side,  by  all  the  rapture  of  which  I  dreamed,  by  that  de- 
licious hour  which  first  gave  thee  to  my  gaze,when  I  watched  the 
soft  soul  returning  to  thine  eyes  and  lip,  by  thy  first  l)lushing 
confession  of  love,  by  our  first  kiss,  by  our  last  farewell — I 
swear  to  be  faithful  to  thee  to  the  last.  None  other  siiall  ever 
ChMe  ihint  im^^'f  f'om  my  heart.   A«d  i»e>w,  wh* n  Hope  eeema 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  245 

over,  Faith  becomes  doubly  sacred  ;  and  thou,  my  beautiful, 
wilt  thou  not  remember  me  ?  wilt  thou  not  feel  as  if  we  were 
the  betrothed  of  Heaven  ?  In  the  legends  of  the  North  we  are 
told  of  the  knight  who,  returning  from  the  Holy  Land,  found 
his  mistress  (believing  his  death)  the  bride  of  Heaven,  and  he 
built  a  hermitage  by  the  convent  where  she  dwelt  ;  and,  though 
they  never  saw  each  other  more,  their  souls  were  faithful  unto 
death.  Even  so,  Irene,  be  we  to  each  other — dead  to  all  else  ; 
betrothed  in  memory ,  to  be  wedded  above  !  And  yet,  yet  ere 
I  close,  one  hope  dawns  upon  me.  Thy  brother's  career, 
bright  and  lofty,  may  be  but  as  a  falling  star  ;  should  darkness 
swallow  it,  should  his  power  cease,  should  his  throne  be 
broken,  and  Rome  know  no  more  her  Tribune  ;  shouldst  thou 
no  longer  have  a  brother  in  the  judge  and  destroyer  of  my 
house ;  shouldst  thou  be  stricken  from  pomp  and  state ; 
shouldst  thou  be  friendless,  kindredless,  alone — then,  without 
a  stain  on  mine  honor,  without  the  shame  and  odium  of  re- 
ceiving power  and  happiness  from  hands  yet  red  with  the 
blood  of  my  race,  I  may  claim  thee  as  my  own.  Honor  ceases 
to  command  when  thou  ceasest  to  be  great.  I  dare  not  too 
fondly  indulge  this  dream,  perchance  it  is  a  sin  in  both.  But 
it  must  be  whispered,  that  thou  mayst  know  all  thy  Adrian,  all 
his  weakness  and  his  strength.  My  own  loved,  my  ever  loved, 
loved  more  fondly  now  when  loved  despairingly,  farewell  ! 
May  angels  heal  thy  sorrow,  and  guard  me  from  sin,  that  here- 
after at  least  we  may  meet  again  ! " 

"He  loves  me — he  loves  me  still  !  "  said  the  maiden,  weep- 
ing at  last  ;  "  and  I  am  blest  once  more  !  " 

With  that  letter  pressed  to  her  heart  she  recovered  out- 
wardly from  the  depth  of  her  affliction  ;  she  met  her  brother 
with  a  smile,  and  Nina  with  embraces  ;  and  if  still  she  pined 
and  sorrowed,  it  was  in  that  "  concealment "  which  is  the 
"worm  i'  the  bud." 

Meanwhile,  after  the  first  flush  of  victory,  lamentation  suc- 
ceeded to  joy  in  Rome  ;  so  great  had  been  the  slaughter  that 
the  private  grief  was  large  enough  to  swallow  up  all  public  tri- 
umph ;  and  many  of  the  mourners  blamed  even  their  defender 
for  the  swords  of  the  assailant.  *'  Roma  fu  terribilmente  vedo- 
vaiay*  The  numerous  funerals  deeply  affected  the  Tribune  ; 
and  in  proportion  to  his  sympathy  with  his  people  grew  his 
stern  indignation  against  the  barons.  Like  all  men  whose  re- 
ligion is  intense,  passionate,  and  zealous,  the  Tribune  had  little 
toleration  for  those  crimes  which  went  to  the  root  of  religion* 

*  ^''Rofite  ivns  terribly  widowed.^* 


246  RiEN^I, 

Perjury  was  to  him  the  most  base  and  inexpiable  of  offences,  and 
the  slain  barons  had  been  twice  perjured  ;  in  the  bitterness  of 
his  wrath  he  forbade  their  families  for  some  days  to  lament 
over  their  remains  ;  and  it  was  only  in  private  and  in  secret  that 
he  permitted  them  to  be  interred  in  their  ancestral  vaults  :  an 
excess  of  vengean'^'^  v/hich  sullied  his  laurels,  but  which  was 
scarcely  inconsistent  with  the  stern  patriotism  of  his  character. 
Impatient  to  finish  what  he  had  begun,  anxious  to  march  at 
once  to  Marino,  where  the  insurgents  collected  their  shattered 
force,  he  summoned  his  Council,  and  represented  the  certainty 
of  victory,  and  its  result  in  the  complete  restoration  of  peace. 
But  pay  was  due  to  the  soldiery  ;  they  already  murmured  ;  the 
treasury  was  emptied,  it  was  necessary  to  fill  it  by  raising  a 
new  tax. 

Among  the  councillors  were  some  whose  families  had  suf- 
fered grievously  in  the  battle  ;  they  lent  a  lukewarm  attention 
to  propositions  of  continued  strife.  Others,  among  whom  was 
Pandulfo,  timid,  but  well-meaning,  aware  that  grief  and  terror 
even  of  their  own  triumph  had  produced  reaction  amongst  the 
people,  declared  that  they  would  not  venture  to  propose  a  new 
tax.  A  third  party,  headed  byBaroncelli — a  demagogue  whose 
ambition  was  without  principle — but  who,  by  pandering  to  the 
worst  passions  of  the  populace,  by  a  sturdy  coarseness  of  nature 
with  which  they  sympathized,  and  by  that  affectation  of  advanc- 
ing what  we  now  term  the  *' movement,"  which  often  gives  to 
the  fiercest  fool  an  advantage  over  the  most  prudent  statesman, 
had  quietly  acquired  a  great  influence  with  the  lower  ranks — 
offered  a  more  bold  opposition.  They  dared  even  to  blame 
the  proud  Tribune  for  the  gorgeous  extravagance  they  had 
themselves  been  the  first  to  recommend,  and  half  insinuated 
sinister  and  treacherous  motives  in  his  acquittal  of  the  barons 
from  the  accusation  of  Rodolf.  In  the  very  Parliament  which 
the  Tribune  had  revived  and  remodeled  for  the  support  of 
freedom — freedom  was  abandoned.  His  fiery  eloquence  met 
with  a  gloomy  silence,  and  finally,  the  votes  were  against  his 
propositions  for  the  new  tax  and  the  march  to  Marino.  Rienzi 
broke  up  the  Council  in  haste  and  disorder.  As  he  left  the 
hall,  a  letter  was  put  into  his  hands ;  he  read  it,  and  remained 
for  some  moments  as  one  thunderstruck.  He  then  summoned 
the  captain  of  his  guards,  and  ordered  a  band  of  fifty  horse- 
men to  be  prepared  for  his  commands  ;  he  repaired  to  Nina's 
apartment,  he  found  her  alone,  and  stood  for  some  moments 
gazing  upon  her  so  intently  that  she  was  awed  and  chilled  from 
all  attempt  at  speech.     At  length  he  said,  abruptly ; 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  247 

*We  must  part." 
"Part!" 

*'Yes,  Nina  ;  your  guard  is  preparing  ;  you  have  relations,  I 
have  friends,  at  Florence.     Florence  must  be  your  home." 

*'  Cola—" 

*'  Look  not  on  me  thus.  In  power,  in  state,  in  safety,  you 
7ere  my  ornament  and  counsellor.  Now  you  but  embarrass 
ae.     And — " 

'  Oh,  Cola,  speak  not  thus  !  What  hath  chanced  ?  Be  not 
-,0  cold  ;  frown  not ;  turn  not  away  !  Am  I  not  something 
more  to  thee  than  the  partner  of  joyous  hours — the  minion  of 
lOve  ?     Am  I  not  thy  wife.  Cola  ;  not  thy  leman  ?" 

'''  Too  dear  ;  too  dear  to  me,"  muttered  the  Tribune  ;  *Svith 
chee  by  my  side  I  shall  be  but  half  a  Roman.  Nina,  the  base 
slaves  whom  I  myself  made  free,  desert  me.  Now,  in  the  very 
hour  in  which  I  might  sweep  away  forever  all  obstacles  to  the 
regeneration  of  Rome — now,  when  one  conquest  points  the 
path  to  complete  success — now,  when  the  land  is  visible,  my 
fortune  suddenly  leaves  me  in  the  midst  of  the  seas  !  There 
is  greater  danger  now  than  in  the  rage  of  the  barons — the 
barons  are  fled  ;  it  is  the  people  who  are  becoming  traitors  to 
Rome  and  to  me." 

"  And  wouldst  thou  have  me  traitor  also  !  No,  Cola ;  in 
death  itself  Nina  shall  be  beside  thee.  Life  and  honor  are 
reflected  but  from  thee,  and  the  stroke  that  slays  the  sub- 
stance shall  destroy  the  humble  shadow.  I  will  not  part  from 
thee." 

"Nina,"  said  the  Tribune,  contending  with  strong  and  con- 
vulsive emotion,  "  it  may  be  literally  of  death  that  you  speak. 
Gc  \  leave  one  who  can  no  longer  protect  you  or  Rome  I  " 

*' Never — never." 

**  You  are  resolved  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

'  Be  it  so,"  said  the  Tribune,  with  deep  sadness  in  his  tone. 
*  Arm  thyself  for  the  worst." 

"  There  is  no  worst  with  thee.  Cola  ! " 

"  Come  to  my  arms,  brave  woman  ;  thy  words  rebuke  my 
weakness.  But  my  sister  !  If  /  fall,  you^  Nina,  will  not  sur- 
vive— your  beauty  a  pray  to  the  most  lustful  heart  and  the 
strongest  hand.  We  will  have  the  same  tomb  on  the  wrecks  of 
Roman  liberty.  But  Irene  is  of  weaker  mould  ;  poor  child,  I 
have  robbed  her  of  a  lover,  and  now — " 

"You  are  right  ;  let  Irene  go.  And  in  truth  we  may  well 
disguise  from  her  the  real  cause  of  her  departure.     Change  Qf 


348  RIENZI, 

scene  were  best  for  her  grief;  and  under  all  circumstances 
would  seem  decorum  to  the  curious.  I  will  see  and  prepare 
her." 

"  Do  so,  sweetheart.  I  would  gladly  be  a  moment  alone 
with  thought.  But  remember,  she  must  part  to-day — our  sands 
run  low." 

As  the  door  closed  on  Nina,  the  Tribune  took  out  the  letter 
and  again  read  it  deliberately.  "So  the  Pope's  Legate  left 
Sienna  :  prayed  that  Republic  to  withdraw  its  auxiliary  troops 
from  Rome  ;  proclaimed  me  a  rebel  and  a  heretic  ;  thence  re- 
paired to  Marino  ;  now  in  council  with  the  barons.  Why,  have 
my  dreams  belied  me,  then — false  as  the  waking  things  that 
flatter  and  betray  by  day  ?  In  such  peril  will  the  people  for- 
sake me  and  themselves  ?  Army  ®f  saints  and  martyrs,  shades 
of  heroes  and  patriots,  have  ye  abandoned  forever  your  ancient 
home  ?  No,  no,  I  was  not  raised  to  perish  thus  :  I  will  defeat 
them  yet,  and  leave  my  name  a  legacy  to  Rome  ;  a  warning  to 
the  oppressor,  an  example  to  the  free  ! " 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   ROTTENNESS   OF  THE  EDIFICE. 

The  kindly  skill  of  Nina  induced  Irene  to  believe  that  -t 
was  but  the  tender  consideration  of  her  brother  to  change  a 
scene  embittered  by  her  own  thoughts,  and  in  which  the  noto- 
riety of  her  engagement  with  Adrian  exposed  her  to  all  that 
could  mortify  and  embarrass,  that  led  to  the  proposition  of  her 
visit  to  Florence.  Its  suddenness  was  ascribed  to  the  occasion 
of  an  unexpected  mission  to  Florence  (for  a  loan  of  arms  and 
money),  which  thus  gave  her  a  safe  and  honored  escort.  Pas- 
sively she  submitted  to  what  she  herself  deemed  a  relief ;  and 
it  was  agreed  that  she  should  for  a  while  be  the  guest  of  a  rela- 
tion of  Nina's,  who  was  the  abbess  of  one  of  the  wealthiest  of 
the  Florentine  convents  ;  the  idea  of  monastic  seclusion  was 
welcome  to  the  bruised  heart  and  wearied  spirit. 

But  though  not  apprised  of  the  immediate  peril  of  Rienzi,  it 
was  with  deep  sadness  and  gloomy  forebodings  that  she  re- 
turned his  embrace  and  parting  blessing  ;  and  when  at  length 
alone  in  her  litter,  and  beyond  the  gates  of  Rome,  she  repented 
a  departure  to  which  the  chanceot  daogOfgave  the  appearance 
^i  desertion^ 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  if4g' 

Meanwhile,  as  the  declining  day  closed  around  the  litter  and 
its  troop,  more  turbulent  actors  in  the  drama  demand  our  audi- 
ence. The  traders  and  artisans  of  Rome  at  that  time,  and  es- 
pecially during  the  popular  government  of  Rienzi,  held  weekly 
meetings  in  each  of  the  thirteen  quarters  of  the  city.  And  in 
the  most  democratic  of  these,  Cecco  del  Vecchio  was  an  oracle 
and  leader.  It  was  at  that  assembly,  over  which  the  smith  pre- 
sided, that  the  murmurs  that  preceded  the  earthquake  were 
heard. 

"  So,"  cried  one  of  the  company — Luigi,  the  goodly  butcher, — 
"  they  say  he  wanted  to  put  a  new  tax  on  us  ;  and  that  is  the 
reason  he  broke  up  the  Council  to-day,  because,  good  men,  they 
were  honest,  and  had  bowels  for  the  people  ;  it  is  a  shame  and 
a  sin  that  the  treasury  should  be  empty." 

"I  told  him,"  said  the  smith,  ''  to  beware  how  he  taxed  the 
people.  Poor  men  won't  be  taxed.  But  as  he  does  not  follow 
my  advice,  he  must  take  the  consequence  ;  the  horse  runs  from 
one  hand,  the  halter  remains  in  the  other," 

"Take  your  advice,  Cecco!  I  warrant  me  his  stomach  is 
too  high  for  that  now.     Why,  he  is  grown  as  proud  as  a  pope." 

"  For  all  that,  he  is  a  great  man,"  said  one  of  the  party. 
**  He  gave  us  laws — he  rid  the  Campagna  of  robbers — filled  the 
streets  with  merchants,  and  the  shops  with  wares — defeated 
the  boldest  lords  and  fiercest  soldiery  of  Italy — " 

"And  now  wants  to  tax  the  people!  That's  all  the  thanks  we 
get  for  helping  him,"  said  the  grumbling  Cecco.  "What  would 
he  have  been  without  us  ?     We  that  make,  can  unmake." 

"  But,"  continued  the  advocate,  seeing  that  he  had  his  sup- 
porters, "but  then  he  taxes  us  for  our  own  liberties." 

"Who  strikes  at  them  now  ?"  asked  the  butcher. 

"  Why,  the  barons  are  daily  mustering  new  strength  at 
Marino." 

"  Marino  is  not  Rome,"  said  Luigi,  the  butcher.  "  Let's 
wait  till  they  come  to  our  gates  again  ;  we  know  how  to  receive 
them.  Though,  for  the  matter  of  that,  I  think  we  have  had 
enough  fighting.  My  two  poor  brothers  had  each  a  stab  too 
much  for  them.  Why  won't  the  Tribune,  if  he  be  a  great 
man,  let  us  have   peace  ?     All  we  want  now  is  quiet." 

"Ah  !  "  said  a  seller  of  horse  harness.  "  Let  him  make  it 
up  with  the  barons.     "  'i'hey  were  good  customers  after  all.' 

"  For  my  part," said  a  merry-looking  fellow,  who  had  been  a 
gravedigger  in  bad  times,  nnd  had  now  opened  a  stall  of  wares 
for  the  living,  "  1  could  i'orgive  him  all,  but  bathing  in  the  boiy 
vase  of  porphyry." 


250  RIENZI, 

**  Ah,  that  was  a  bad  job,"  said  several,  shaking  their  neads, 

**And  the  knighthood  was  but  a  silly  show,  an'  u  were  not 
for  the  wine  from  the  horse's  nostrils — that  had  some  sense 
in  it." 

"  My  masters,"  said  Cecco,  "  the  folly  was  in  not  beheading 
the  barons  when  he  had  them  all  in  the  net :  and  so  Messerfe 
Baroncelli  says.  (Ah,  Baroncelli  is  an  honest  man,  and  foHow* 
no  half  measures !)  It  was  a  sort  of  treason  to  the  people  not 
to  do  so.  Why,  but  for  that,  we  should  never  have  lost  so 
many  tall  fellows  by  the  gate  of  San  Lorenzo." 

"  True,  true,  it  was  a  shame  ;  some  say  the  barons  bought 
him." 

"And  then,"  said  another,  "those  poor  Lords  Colonna — boy 
and  man — they  were  the  best  of  the  family,  save  the  Castello. 
I  vow  I  pitied  them." 

*'  But  to  the  point,"  said  one  of  the  crowd,  the  richest  of  the 
set  ;  "  The  tax  is  the  thing  !  The  ingratitude  to  tax  us.  Let 
him  dare  to  do  it  !  " 

"Oh,  he  will  not  dare,  for  I  hear  that  the  Pope's  bristles  are 
up  at  last ;  so  he  will  only  have  us  to  depend  upon." 

The  door  was  thrown  open — a  man  rushed  in  open-mouthed. 

"  Masters,  masters,  the  Pope's  legate  has  arrived  at  Rome, 
and  sent  for  the  Tribune,  who  has  just  left  his  presence." 

Ere  his  auditors  had  recovered  their  surprise,  the  sound  of 
trumpets  made  them  rush  forth  ;  they  saw  Rienzi  sweep  by 
with  his  usual  cavalcade,  and  in  his  proud  array.  The  twi- 
light was  advancing,  and  torch-bearers  preceded  his  way. 
Upon  his  countenance  was  deep  calm,  but  it  was  not  the  calm 
of  contentment.  He  passed  on,  and  the  street  was  again  deso- 
late. Meanwhile,  Rienzi  reached  the  Capitol  in  silence,  and 
mounted  to  the  apartments  of  the  palace,  where  Nina,  pale 
and  breathless,  awaited  his  return. 

"  Well,  well,  thou  smilest !  No  ;  it  is  that  dread  smile,  worse 
than  frowns.  Speak,  beloved,  speak !  What  said  the  Car- 
dinal?" 

"  Little  thou  wilt  love  to  hear.  He  spoke  at  first  high  and 
solemnly  about  the  crime  of  declaring  the  Romans  free ;  next 
about  the  treason  of  asserting  that  the  election  of  the  King  of 
Rome  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Romans." 

"Weill    thy  answer." 

"  That  which  became  Rome's  Tribune:  I  re-asserted  each 
right   and  proved  it.     The  Cardinal  passed  to  other  charges." 

"  VVhnt?" 

•*  The  blopd  of  the  barons  by  San  Lorenzo — blood  only  shed 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  S^l 

in  our  own  defence  against  perjured  assailants;  this  is  in 
reality  the  main  crime.  The  Colonna  have  the  Pope's  ear. 
Furthermore,  the  sacrilege — yes  the  sacrilege  (come  laugh, 
Nina,  laugh  !)  of  bathing  in  a  vase  of  porphyry  used  by  Con- 
stantine  while  yet  a  heathen." 

"  Can  it  be  !     What  saidst  thou  ? " 

"I  laughed.  *  Cardinal,'  quoth  I,  'what  was  not  too  good 
for  a  heathen  is  not  too  good  for  a  Christian  Catholic  ! '  And 
verily  the  sour  Frenchman  looked  as  if  I  had  smote  him  on 
the  hip.  When  he  had  done,  I  asked,  in  my  turn,  '  Is  it  alleged 
against  me  that  I  have  wronged  one  man  in  my  judgment- 
court?' — Silence.  'Is  it  said  that  I  have  broken  one  law  of  the 
State?' — Silence.  'Is  it  even  whispered  that  trade  does  not 
flourish  ;  that  life  is  not  safe  ;  that  abroad  or  at  home  the 
Roman  name  is  not  honored,  to  that  point  which  no  former 
rule  can  parallel?' — Silence.  'Then,'  said  I,  'Lord  Cardinal, 
I  demand  thy  thanks,  not  thy  censure.'  The  Frenchman 
looked,  and  looked,  and  trembled,  and  shrunk,  and  then  out 
he  spoke.  '  I  have  but  one  mission  to  fulfil,  on  the  part  of  the 
Pontiff — resign  at  once  thy  Tribuneship,  or  the  Church  inflicts 
upon  thee  its  solemn  curse.*  " 

"  How — how  ?  "  said  Nina,  turning  very  pale  ;  *'  what  is  it 
that  awaits  thee?" 

"  Excommunication  ! " 

This  awful  sentence,  by  which  the  spiritual  arm  had  so  often 
stricken  down  the  fiercest  foe,  came  to  Nina's  ear  as  a  knell. 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Rienzi  paced  the  room 
with  rapid  strides.  "  The  curse  !  "  he  muttered  ;  "  the  Church's 
curse — for  me — for  me  !  " 

"  Oh,  Cola  !  didst  thou  not  seek  to  pacify  this  stern — '* 

"  Pacify  !  Death  and  dishonor  !  Pacify  !  '  Cardinal,'  I 
said,  and  I  felt  his  soul  shrivel  at  my  gaze, '  my  power  I  received 
from  the  people — to  the  people  alone  I  render  it.  For  my  soul, 
man's  word  cannot  scathe  it.  Thou,  haughty  priest,  tiiou  thy- 
self art  the  accursed,  if,  puppet  and  tool  of  low  cabals  and 
exiled  tyrants,  thou  breathest  but  a  breath  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord  of  Justice,  for  the  cause  of  the  oppressor,  and  against  the 
rights  of  the  oppressed/     With  that  I  left  him,  and  now — " 

"  Ay,  now — now  what  will  happen  ?  Exoommunication  !  In 
the  metropolis  of  the  Church,  too — the  superstition  of  the  peo* 
pie  !     Oh,  Cola  ! " 

"  If,"  muttered  Rienzi,  "  my  conscience  condemned  me  of 
one  crime  ;  if  I  had  stained  my  hands  in  one  just  man's  blood ; 
if  I  had  broken  one  law  I  myself   had  framed  ;  if  I  had  taken 


252  RIENZI, 

bribes,  or  wronged  the  poor,  or  scorned  the  orphan,  or  shut  my 
heart  to  the  widow — then,  then — but  no  !  Lord,  thou  wilt  not 
desert  me  ! " 

"But  fnan  may!"  thought  Nina  mournfully,  as  she  per- 
ceived that  one  of  Rienzi's  dark  fits  of  fanatical  and  mystical 
revery  was  growing  over  him — fits  which  he  suffered  no  living 
eye,  not  even  Nina's,  to  witness  when  they  gathered  to  their 
height.  And  now,  indeed,  after  a  short  interval  of  muttered 
soliloquy,  in  which  his  face  worked  so  that  the  veins  on  his  tem- 
ples swelled  like  cords,  he  abruptly  left  the  room,  and  sought 
the  private  oratory  connected  with  his  closet.  Over  the  emo- 
tions there  indulged  let  us  draw  the  veil.  Who  shall  describe 
those  awful  and  mysterious  moments,  when  man,  with  all  his 
fiery  passions,  turbulent  thoughts,  wild  hopes,  and  despondent 
fears,  demands  the  solitary -audience  of  his  Maker? 

It  was  long  after  this  conference  with  Nina,  and  the  mid- 
night bell  had  long  tolled,  when  Rienzi  stood  alone,  upon  one 
of  the  balconies  of  the  palace,  to  cool,  in  the  starry  air,  the 
fever  that  yet  lingered  on  his  exhausted  frame.  The 
night  was  exceedingly  calm,  the  air  clear,  but  chill,  for  it  was 
now  December.  He  gazed  intently  upon  those  solemn  orbs  to 
which  our  wild  credulity  has  referred  the  prophecies  of  our 
doom. 

"Vain  science  !  "thought  the  Tribune,  "and  gloomy  fantasy, 
that  man's  fate  is  pre-ordained — irrevocable — unchangeable, 
from  the  moment  of  his  birth  !  Yet,  were  the  dream  not  base- 
less, fain  would  I  know  which  of  yon  stately  lights  is  my  natal 
star  ;  which  images — which  reflects — my  career  in  life,  and  the 
memory  I  shall  leave  in  death."  As  this  thought  crossed  him, 
and  his  gaze  was  still  fixed  above,  he  saw,  as  if  made  suddenly 
more  distinct  than  the  stars  around  it,  that  rapid  and  fiery 
comet  which,  in  the  winter  of  1347,  dismayed  the  superstitions 
oT  those  who  recognized  in  the  stranger  of  the  heavens  the 
omen  of  disaster  and  of  woe.  He  recoiled  as  it  met  his  eye,  and 
muttered  to  himself,  "  Is  such  indeed  my  type  !  or,  if  the 
legendary  lore  speak  true,  and  these  strange  fires  portend  na- 
tions ruined  and  rulers  overthrown,  does  it  foretell  my  fate  ? 
I  will  think  no  more."*  As  his  eyes  fell,  they  rested  upon  the 
colossal  Lion  of  Basalt  in  the  place  below,  the  starlight  invest- 
ing its  gray  and  towering  form  with  a  more  ghostly  whiteness  ; 
and  then  it  was  that  he  perceived  two   figures  in   black   robes 

*  Alas  !  if  by  the  Romans  associated  with  the  fall  of  Rienzi.  that  comet  was  by  the  rest  of 
Europe  connected  with  the  more  d're  calamity  of  the  Great  Plague  that  so  soon  afterwards 
'jeeued. 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  253 

lingering  by  the  pedestal  which  supported  the  statue,  and 
apparently  engaged  in  some  occupation  which  he  could  not 
guess.  A  fear  shot  through  his  veins,  for  he  had  never  been 
able  to  divest  himself  of  the  vague  idea  that  there  was  some 
solemn  and  appointed  connection  between  his  fate  and  that  old 
Lion  of  Basalt.  Somewhat  relieved,  he  heard  his  sentry  chal- 
lenge the  intruders  ;  and  as  they  came  forward  to  the  light,  he 
perceived  that  they  wore  the  garments  of  monks. 

"  Molest  us  not,  son,"  said  one  of  them  to  the  sentry.  "  By 
order  of  the  Legate  of  the  Holy  Father  we  affix  to  this  public 
monument  of  justice  and  of  wrath,  the  bull  of  excommunica- 
tion against  a  heretic  and  rebel.  Woe  to  the  Accur  ;EiJ  OF 
THE  Church  I " 


CHAPTER  VL 

the  fall  of  the  temple. 

It  was  as  a  thvnderbolt  in  a  serene  day — the  reverse  of  the 
Tribune  in  the  zenith  of  his  power,  in  the  abasement  of  his 
foe  ;  when,  with  but  a  handful  of  brave  Romans,  determined 
to  be  free,  he  might  have  crushed  forever  the  ai^tagonis^  power 
to  the  Roman  liberties ;  have  secured  the  rights  of  his  co'dVKlry 
and  filled  up  the  measure  of  his  own  renown.  Such  a  reverse 
was  the  very  mockery  of  Fate,  v/ho  bore  him  through  disaster, 
to  abandon  him  in  the  sunniest  noon  of  his  prosperity. 

The  next  morning,  not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen  in  the  streets  ; 
the  shops  were  shut,  the  churches  closed  ;  the  city  was  as  under 
an  interdict.  The  awful  curse  of  the  papal  excommunication 
upon  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  Pontifical  City  seemed  to 
freeze  up  all  the  arteries  of  life.  The  Legate  himself,  affecting 
fear  of  his  life,  had  fled  to  Monte  Fiascone,  where  he  was 
joined  by  the  barons  immediately  after  the  publication  of  the 
edict.     The  curse  worked  best  in  the  absence  of  the  execrator. 

Towards  evening  a  few  persons  might  be  seen  traversing  the 
broad  space  of  the  Capitol,  crossing  themselves,  as  the  bull, 
placarded  on  the  lion,  met  their  eyes,  and  disappearing  within 
the  doors  of  the  great  palace.  By  and  by  a  few  anxious  groups 
collected  in  the  streets,  but  they  soon  dispersed.  It  was  a 
paralysis  of  all  intercourse  and  commune.  That  spiritual  and 
unarmed  authority,  which,  like  the  invisible  hand  of  God,  deso- 
lated the  Itiarket-placc,  and  humbled  the  crowned  head,  no 
physical  feree  «?©uld  rally  against  or  resist*     Yet,  through  lh« 


2^4  RIENZI, 

universal  awe,  one  conviction  touched  the  multitude — it  was 
for  them  that  their  Tribune  was  thus  blasted  in  the  midst  of 
his  glories  !  The  words  of  the  Brand  recorded  against  him  on 
wall  and  column  detailed  his  offences  :  rebellion  in  asserting 
the  liberties  of  Rome  ;  heresy  in  purifying  ecclesiastical  abuses; 
and,  to  serve  for  a  miserable  covert  to  the  rest,  it  was  sacrilege 
for  bathing  in  the  porphyry  vase  of  Constantine  !  They  felt 
the  conviction  ;  they  sighed  ;  they  shuddered  ;  and,  in  his  vast 
palace,  save  a  few  attached  and  devoted  hearts,  the  Tribune 
v/as  alone  ! 

The  staunchest  of  his  Tuscan  soldiery  were  gone  with  Irene. 
The  rest  of  his  force,  save  a  few  remaining  guards,  v/as  the 
paid  Roman  militia,  composed  of  citizens ;  who,  long  discon- 
tented by  the  delay  of  their  stipends,  now  seized  on  the  excuse 
of  the  excommunication  to  remain  passive,  but  grumbling,  in 
their  homes. 

On  the  third  day  a  new  incident  broke  upon  the  death-like 
lethargy  of  the  city;  a  hundred  and  fifty  mercenaries,  with 
Pepin  of  Minorbino,  a  Neapolitan,  half  noble,  half  bandit  (a 
creature  of  Montreal's),  at  their  head,  entered  the  city,  seized 
upon  the  fortressses  of  the  Colonna,  and  sent  a  herald  through 
the  city,  proclaiming,  in  the  name  of  the  Cardinal  Legate,  the 
reward  of  ten  thousand  florins  for  the  head  of  Cola  di  Rienzi. 

Then  swelled  on  high,  shrill  but  not  inspiring  as  of  old,  the 
great  bell  of  the  Capitol  ;  the  people,  listless,  disheartened, 
awed  by  the  spiritual  fear  of  the  papal  authority  (yet  greater, 
in  such  events,  since  the  removal  of  the  see),  came  unarmed  to 
the  Capitol  ;  and  there  by  the  Place  of  the  Lion,  stood  the 
Tribune.  His  'squires,  below  the  step,  held  his  war-horse,  his 
Jielm,  and  the  same  battle-axe  which  had  blazed  in  the  van  of 
victorious  war. 

Beside  him  were  a  few  of  his  guards,  his  attendants,  and  two 
-or  three  of  the  principal  citizens. 

He  stood  bareheaded  and  erect,  gazing  upon  the  abashed 
and  unarmed  crowd  with  a  look  of  bitter  scorn,  mingled  with 
deep  compassion;  and,  as  the  bell  ceased  its  toll,  and  the  throng 
remained  hushed  and  listening,  he  thus  spoke: 

*'  Ye  come,  then,  once  again  !  Come  ye  as  slaves  or  free- 
men ?  A  handful  of  armed  men  are  in  your  walls  :  will  ye, 
who  chased  from  your  gates  the  haughtiest  knights,  the  most 
practised  battle-men  of  Rome,  succumb  now  to  one  hundred 
and  fifty  hirelings  and  strangers  ?  Will  ye  arm  for  your 
Triijune  ?  You  are  silent  ! — 'be  it  so.  Will  you  arm  for  your 
t^H»^  l*b«»»iic«i  i -^^«ftr  ««i?-r  ^nm<?<*    Silent  ttiiU     By  the  s&ititf 


THE   LAST   OF    TME   TRIBUNES.  255 

that  reign  on  the  thrones  of  the  heathen  gods  !  are  ye  thus 
fallen  from  your  birthright  ?  Have  you  no  arms  for  your  own 
defence?  Romans,  hear  me !  Have  I  wronged  you?  If  so, 
by  your  hands  let  me  die  :  and  then,  with  knives  yet  reeking 
with  my  blood,  go  forward  against  the  robber  who  is  but  the 
herald  of  your  slavery;  and  I  die  honored,  grateful,  and  avenged. 
You  weep  !  Great  God  !  you  weep  !  Ay,  and  1  could  weej) 
too,  that  I  should  live  to  speak  of  liberty  in  vain  to  Romans ! 
Weep  !  is  this  an  hour  for  tears  ?  Weep  now,  and  your  tear^ 
shall  ripen  harvests  of  crime,  and  license,  and  despotism,  to 
come  !  Romans,  arm  !  follow  me  at  once  to  the  Place  of  the 
Colonna :  expel  this  ruffian — expel  your  enemy  (no  matter 
what  afterwards  you  do  to  me)  ":  he  paused  ;  no  ardor  was 
kindled  by  his  words — "  or,"  he  continued,  "  I  abandon  you  to 
your  fate."  There  was  a  long,  low,  general  murmur;  at  length 
it  became  shaped  into  speech,  and  many  voices  cried  simulta- 
neously :     "The  Pope's  bull  !     Thou  art  a  man  accursed  !  " 

**  What  !"  cried  the  Tribune,  "and  is  it  ye  who  forsake  me, 
ye  for  whose  cause  alone  man  dares  to  hurl  against  me  the 
thunders  of  his  God  !  Is  it  not  for  you  that  1  am  declared 
heretic  and  rebel !  What  are  my  imputed  crimes  ?  That  I 
have  made  Rome  and  asserted  Italy  to  be  free;  that  I  have  sub- 
dued the  proud  magnates,  who  were  the  scourge  both  of  Pope 
and  People.  And  you — you  upbraid  me  with  what  I  have 
dared  and  done  for  you  !  Men,  with  you  I  would  have  fought, 
for  you  I  would  have  perished.  You  forsake  yourselves  in 
forsaking  me,  and  since  I  no  longer  rule  over  brave  men,  I 
resign  my  power  to  the  tyrant  you  prefer.  Seven  months  I 
havi  ruled  over  you,  prosperous  in  commerce,  stainless  in 
justice,  victorious  in  the  field — I  have  shown  you  what  Rome 
could  be;  and,  since  I  abdicate  the  government  ye  gave  me, 
when  I  am  gone,  strike  for  your  own  freedom  !  It  matters 
nothing  who  is  the  chief  of  a  brave  and  great  people.  Prove 
that  Rome  hath  many  a  Rienzi,  but  of  brighter  fortunes." 

"I  would  he  had  not  sought  to  tax  us,"  said  Cecco  del 
Vecchio,  who  was  the  very  personification  of  the  vulgar  feel- 
ing :  "  and  that  he  had  beheaded  the  barons  !  " 

"Ay  !"  cried  the  ex-gravedigger  ;  "but  that  blessed  por- 
phyry vase  !  " 

"  And  why  should  we  get  our  throats  cut,"  said  Luigi,  the 
butcher,  "  like  my  two  brothers  ?     Heaven  rest  them  !  " 

On  the  face  of  the  general  multitude  there  was  a  common 
expression  of  irresolution  and  shame  ;  many  wept  and  groaned, 
none  (save  the  aforesaid  grumblers)  accused ;  none  upbraided. 


2^6  RIENZI, 

but  none  seemed  disposed  to  arm.  It  was  one  of  those  listless 
panics,  those  strange  fits  of  indifference  and  letliargy  which 
often  seize  upon  a  people  who  make  liberty  a  matter  of  im- 
pulse and  caprice  ;  to  whom  it  has  become  a  catchword  ;  who 
have  not  long  enjoyed  all  its  rational,  and  sound,  and  jHacti- 
cal,  and  blessed  results  ;  who  have  been  affrayed  by  the  siorms 
that  herald  its  dawn — a  people  such  as  is  common  to  the  south: 
.such  as  even  the  north  has  known;  such  as,  had  Cromwell  lived 
'a  year  longer,  even  England  might  have  seen;  and,  indeed,  in 
some  measure,  such  a  reaction  from  popular  enthusiasm  to 
popular  indifference  England  ^/^  see,  when  her  children  madly 
surrendered  the  fruits  of  a  bloody  war,  without  reserve,  with- 
out foresight,  to  the  lewd  pensioner  of  Louis,  and  the  royal 
murderer  of  Sydney.  To  such  prostration  of  soul,  such  blind- 
ness of  intellect,  even  the  noblest  people  will  be  subjected, 
when  liberty,  which  should  be  the  growth  of  ages,  spreading  its 
roots  through  the  strata  of  a  thousand  customs,  is  raised, 
the  exotic  of  an  hour,  and  (like  the  Tree  and  Dryad  of 
ancient  fable)  flourishes  and  withers  with  the  single  spirit  that 
protects  it. 

"  Oh,  Heaven,  that  I  were  a  man !  "  exclaimed  Angelo,  who 
stood  behind  Rienzi. 

"Hear  him,  hear  the  boy,"  cried  the  Tribune  ;  "  out  of  the 
mouth  of  babes  speaketh  wisdom  !  He  wishes  that  he  were  a 
man,  as  ye  are  men,  that  he  might  do  as  ye  should  do.  Mark 
me  !  I  ride  with  these  faithful  few  through  the  quarter  of 
the  Colonna,  before  the  fortress  of  your  foe.  Three  times 
before  that  fortress  shall  my  trumpets  sound  ;  if  at  the  third 
blast  ye  come  not,  armed  as  befits  ye — I  say  not  all,  but  three, 
but  two,  but  one  hundred  of  ye — I  break  up  my  wand  of  office, 
and  the  world  shall  say  one  hundred  and  fifty  robbers  quelled 
the  soul  of  Rome,  and  crushed  her  magistrate  and  her  laws !" 

With  these  words  he  descended  the  stairs,  and  mounted  his 
charger  ;  the  populace  gave  way  in  silence,  and  their  Tribune 
.and  his  slender  train  passed  slowly  on,  and  gradually  vanished 
ifrom  the  view  of  the  increasing  crowd. 

The  Romans  remained  on  the  place,  and  after  a  pause  the 
demagogue  Baroncelli,  who  saw  an  opening  to  his  ambition, 
addressed  them.  Though  not  an  eloquent  or  gifted  man,  he 
had  the  art  of  uttering  the  most  popular  commonplaces.  And 
he  knew  the  weak  side  of  his  audience,  in  their  vanity,  indo- 
lence, and  arrogant  pride. 

"  Look  you,  my  masters,"  said  he,  leaping  up  to  the  Place  of 
the  Lion  ;  "  The  Tribune  talks  bravely — he  always  did — but 


TH£   LAST   OF*   tttfe   TRIBUNES.  t!^^ 

the  monkey  used  the  cat  for  his  chestnuts  ;  he  wants  to  thrust 
your  paws  into  the  fire  ;  you  will  not  be  so  silly  as  to  let  him. 
The  saints  bless  us  !  but  the  Tribune,  good  man,  gets  a  palace 
and  has  banquets,  and  bathes  in  a  porphyry  vase,  the  more 
shame  on  him  !  in  which  San  Sylvester  christened  the  Emperor 
Constantine  :  all  this  is  worth  fighting  for  ;  but  you,  my  mas- 
ters, what  do  you  get  except  hard  blows,  and  a  stare  at  a 
holyday  spectacle  ?  Why,  if  you  beat  these  fellows,  you  will 
have  another  tax  on  the  wine  :  t/iat  will  he  you/-  reward  ! " 

*'  Hark  !  "  cried  Cecco,  "  there  sounds  the  trumpet, — a  pity 
he  wanted  to  tax  us  !  " 

"True,"  cried  Baroncelli,  "there  sounds  the  trumpet;  a 
silver  trumpet,  by  the  Lord  !  Next  week>  if  you  help  him  out 
of  the  scrape,  he'll  have  a  golden  one.  But  go  !  Why  don't 
you  move,  my  friends  ?  'Tis  but  one  hundred  and  fifty  mer- 
cenaries. True,  they  are  devils  to  fight,  clad  in  armor  from 
top  to  toe  ;  but  what  then  ?  If  they  do  cut  some  four  or  five 
hundred  throats,  you'll  beat  them  at  last,  and  the  Tribune  will 
sup  the  merrier." 

*'  There  sounds  the  second  blast,"  said  the  butcher.  "  If  my 
old  mother  had  not  lost  two  of  us  already,  'tis  odds  but  I'd 
strike  a  blow  for  the  bold  Tribune." 

"You'd  better  put  more  quicksilver  in  you,"  continued  Bar- 
oncelli, "  or  you  will  be  too  late.  And  what  a  pity  that  will 
be !  If  you  believe  the  Tribune,  he  is  the  only  man  that  can 
save  Rome.  What,  you,  the  finest  people  in  the  world — you, 
not  able  to  save  yourselves  ! — you,  bound  up  with  one  man — 
you,  not  able  to  dictate  to  the  Colonna  and  Orsini !  Why, 
who  beat  the  barons  at  San  Lorenzo  ?  Was  it  not  you  ?  Ah  ! 
you  got  the  buffets,  and  the  Tribune  the  moneta  !  Tush,  my 
friends,  let  the  man  go  ;  I  warrant  there  are  plenty  as  good  as 
he  to  be  bought  a  cheaper  bargain.  And,  hark !  there  is  the 
third  blast  ;  it  is  too  late  now  !  " 

As  the  trumpet  from  the  distance  sent  forth  its  long  and 
melancholy  note,  it  was  as  the  last  warning  of  the  parting  gen- 
ius of  the  place  ;  and  when  silence  swallowed  up  the  sound,  a 
gloom  fell  over  the  whole  assembly.  They  began  to  regret,  to 
repent,  when  regret  and  repentance  availed  no  more.  The 
buffoonery  of  Baroncelli  became  suddenly  displeasing  ;  and 
the  orator  had  the  mortification  of  seeing  his  audience  disperse 
in  all  directions  just  as  he  was  about  to  inform  them  what 
great  things  he  himself  could  do  in  their  behalf. 

Meanwhile  the  Tribune,  passing  unscathed  through  the  dan- 
gerous quarter  of  the  enemy,  who,  dismayed  at  his  approach, 


fi58  klENZ!, 

shrunk  within  their  fortress,  proceeded  to  the  Casfle  of  St. 
Angelo,  whither  Nina  had  already  preceded  liim  ;  and  which 
he  entered  to  find  that  proud  lady  with  a  smile  for  his  safety, — ■ 
'vithout  a  tear  for  his  reverse. 


CHAPTER  VII 

5'HE  SUCCESSORS   OF    AN    UNSUCCESSFUL    REVOLUTION. — WHO   IS 
TO    BLAME — THE    FORSAKEN    ONE   OR    THE    FORSAKERS? 

Cheerfully  broke  the  winter  sun  over  the  streets  of  Rome, 
as  the  army  of  the  barons  swept  along  them.  The  Cardinal 
Legate  at  the  head  ;  the  old  Colonna  (no  longer  haughty  and 
erect,  but  bowed,  and  broken-hearted  at  the  loss  of  his  sons)  at 
his  right  hand  ;  the  sleek  smile  of  Luca  Savelli,  the  black 
frown  of  Rinaldo  Orsini,  were  seen  close  behind.  A  long  but 
barbarous  array  it  was  ;  made  up  chiefly  of  foreign  hirelings ; 
nor  did  the  procession  resemble  the  return  of  exiled  citizens, 
but  the  march  of  invading  foes. 

"  My  Lord  Colonna,"  said  the  Cardinal  Legate,  a  small,  with- 
ered man,  by  birth  a  Frenchman,  and  full  of  the  bitterest  prej- 
udices against  the  Romans,  who  had  in  a  former  mission  very 
ill  received  him,  as  was  their  wont  with  foreign  ecclesiastics  ; 
**  this  Pepin,  whom  Montreal  has  deputed  at  your  orders,  hath 
done  us  indeed  good  service." 

The  old  lord  bowed  but  made  no  answer.  His  strong  intel- 
lect was  already  broken,  and  there  was  dotage  in  his  glassy  eye. 
The  Cardinal  muttered,  "  He  hears  me  not ;  sorrow  hath 
brought  him  to  second  childhood ! "  and  looking  back,  mo- 
tioned to  Luca  Savelli  to  approach. 

"Luca,"  said  the  Legate,  "it  was  fortunate  that  the  Hunga- 
rian's black  banner  detained  the  Proven9al  at  Aversa.  Had 
he  entered  Rome,  we  might  have  found  Rienzi's  successor 
worse  than  the  Tribune  himself.  Montreal,"  he  added,  with  a 
slight  emphasis  and  a  curled  lip,  "  is  a  gentleman  and  a  French- 
man. This  Pepin,  who  is  his  delegate,  we  must  bribe,  or  men- 
ace to  our  will." 

"  Assuredly,"  answered  Savelli,  "  it  is  not  a  difficult  task  : 
for  Montreal  calculated  on  a  more  stubborn  contest,  which  he 
himself  would  have  found  leisure  to  close — " 

'As  Podesta,  or  Prince  of  Rome  !  the  modest  man  !  We 
Frenchmen  have  a  due  sense  of  our  own  merits  ;  but  this  sud- 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  259 

den  victory  surprises  him  as  it  doth  us,  Luca ;  and  we  shall 
wrest  the  prey  from  Pepin,  ere  Montreal  can  come  to  his  help ! 
But  Rienzi  must  die.  He  is  still,  I  hear,  shut  up  in  St.  Angelo. 
The  Orsini  shall  storm  him  ere  the  day  be  much  older.  To- 
day we  possess  the  Capitol,  annul  all  the  rebel's  laws,  break  up 
his  ridiculous  parliament,  and  put  all  the  government  of  the 
city  under  three  senators — Rinaldo  Orsini,  Colonna,  and  my- 
self;  you,  my  lord,  I  trust,  we  shall  fitly  provide  for." 

''Oh  !  I  am  rewarded  enough  by  returning  to  my  palace  ; 
and  a  descent  on  the  jewellers'  quarter  will  soon  build  up  its 
fortifications.  Luca  Savelli  is  not  an  ambitious  man.  He  wants 
but  to  live  in  peace." 

The  Cardinal  smiled  sourly,  and  took  the  turn  towards  the 
Capitol. 

In  the  front  space  the  usual  gapers  were  assembled.  "  Make 
way !  make  way,  knaves  !  "  cried  the  guards,  trampling  on 
either  side  the  crowd,  who,  accustomed  to  the  sedate  and  cour- 
teous order  of  Rienzi's  guard,  fell  back  too  slowly  for  many  of 
them  to  escape  severe  injury  from  the  pikes  of  the  soldiers  and 
the  hoofs  of  the  horses.  Our  friend,  Luigi,  the  butcher,  was 
one  of  these,  and  the  surliness  of  the  Roman  blood  was  past 
boiling  heat  when  he  received  in  his  ample  stomach  the  blunt 
end  of  a  German's  pike.  "There,  Roman,"  said  the  rude 
mercenary,  in  his  barbarous  attempt  at  Italian,  "  make  way  for 
your  betters ;  you  have  had  enough  crowds  and  shows  of  late, 
in  all  conscience." 

"  Betters  !  "  gulped  out  the  poor  butcher  ;  **  a  Roman  has  no 
betters ;  and  if  I  had  not  lost  two  brothers  by  San  Lorenzo,  I 
would — " 

"  The  dog  is  mutinous,"  said  one  of  the  followers  of  the  Or- 
sini, succeeding  the  German  who  had  passed  on,  "  and  talks  of 
San  Lorenzo  !  " 

"  Oh  ! "  said  another  Orsinist,  who  rode  abreast,  "  I  remem- 
ber him  of  old.     He  was  one  of  Rienzi's  gang." 

"Was  he?"  said  the  other  sternly;  "  then  we  cannot  begin 
salutary  examples  too  soon";  and,  offended  at  something  swag- 
gering and  insolent  in  the  butcher's  look,  the  Orsinist  coolly 
thrust  him  through  the  heart  with  his  pike,  and  rode  on  over 
his  body. 

"Shame!  Shame!"  "Murder!  Murder  !  "cried  the  crowd: 
and  they  began  to  press,  in  the  passion  of  the  moment,  round 
the  fierce  guards. 

The  Legate  heard  the  cry,  and  saw  the  rush  :  he  turned  pale 
**  The  rascals  rebel  again  I '''  he  f^iUered. 


260  RIENZI, 

"No,  your  Eminence — no,"  said  Luca  ,  "but  it  may  be  as 
well  to  infuse  a  wholesome  terror  ,  they  are  all  unarmed  ;  let 
me  bid  the  guards  disperse  them,     A  word  will  do  it." 

The  Cardinal  assented  ;  the  word  was  given  ;  and,  in  a  few 
minutes,  the  soldiery,  who  still  smarted  under  the  vindictive 
memory  of  defeat  from  an  undisciplined  multitude,  scattered 
the  crowd  down  the  streets  without  scruple  or  mercy — riding 
over  some,  spearing  others,  filling  the  air  with  shrieks  and  yells, 
;)d   strewing  the  ground  with   almost  as  many  men   as  a  few 

ys  before  would  have  sufficed  to  have  guarded  Rome,  and 
preserved  the  constitution  !  Through  this  wild,  tumultuous 
scene,  and  over  the  bodies  of  its  victims,  rode  the  Legate  and 
his  train,  to  receive  in  the  Hall  of  the  Capitol  the  allegiance  of 
the  citizens,  and  to  proclaim  the  return  of  the  oppressors. 

As  they  dismounted  at  the  stairs  a  placard  in  large  letters 
struck  the  eye  of  the  Legate.  It  was  placed  upon  the  pedestal 
of  the  Lion  of  Basalt,  covering  the  very  place  that  had  been 
occupied  by  the  bull  of  excommunication.  The  words  were 
few,  and  ran  thus  : 

"  Tremble  !     Rienzi  shall  return  !  " 

"  How !  what  means  this  mummery  ! "  cried  the  Legate, 
trembling  already,  and  looking  round  to  the  nobles. 

"  Please  your  Eminence,"  said  one  of  the  councillors,  who 
had  come  from  the  Capitol  to  meet  the  Legate,  "  we  saw  it  at 
daybreak,  the  ink  yet  moist,  as  we  entered  the  Hall.  We 
deemed  it  best  to  leave  it  for  your  Eminence  to  deal  with." 

"  Vou  deemed  !     Who  are  you,  then  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  members  of  the  Council,  your  Eminence,  and  a 
stanch  opponent  of  the  Tribune,  as  is  well  known,  when  he 
wanted  the  new  tax — " 

"  Council — trash  !  No  more  councils  now !  Order  is  re- 
stored at  last.  The  Orsini  and  the  Colonna  will  look  to  you  in 
tuture.  Resist  a  tax,  did  you  ?  Well,  that  was  right  when  pro- 
posed by  a  tyrant ;  but  /  warn  you,  friend,  to  take  care  how 
vor  resist  the  tax  we  shall  impose.  Happy  if  your  city  can  buy 
its  i-eace  with  the  Church  on  any  terms — and  his  Holiness  is 
short  of  the  florins." 

The  discomfited  councillor  shrank  back. 

"  Tear  off  yon  insolent  placard.  Nay,  hold  !  fix  over  it  our 
proclamation  of  ten  thousand  florins  for  the  heretic's  heaa  i 
Ten  thousand  ?  methinks  that  is  too  much  now ;  we  will  alter 
the  ciplier.  Meanwhile  Rinaldo  Orsini,  Lord  Senator,  march 
thy  snidiers  >n  Sr  Ar>s'="lf» »  let  us  se^  if  th«  heretic  can  stand  a 


THE   LAST  OF   THE  TRIBUNES.  261 

"  It  needs  not,  your  Eminence,"  said  the  councillor,  again 
officiously  bustling  up ;  "  St.  Angelo  is  surrendered.  The 
Tribune,  his  wife,  and  one  page,  escaped  last  night,  it  is  said, 
in  disguise." 

**  Ha  !  "  said  the  old  Colonna,  whose  dulled  sense  had  at 
length  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  something  extraordinary 
arrested  the  progress  of  his  friends.  "  What  is  the  matter  ? 
What  is  that  placard  ?  Will  no  one  tell  me  the  words  ?  My 
old  eyes  are  dim." 

As  he  uttered  the  questions,  in  the  shrill  and  piercing  trebh. 
of  age,  a  voice  replied  in  a  loud  and  deep  tone — none  kne..- 
whence  it  came  ;  the  crowd  was  reduced  to  a  few  stragglers, 
chiefly  friars  in  cowl  and  serge,  whose  curiosity  nought  could 
daunt,  and  whose  garb  ensured  them  safety — the  soldiers  closed 
the  rear :  a  voice,  I  say,  came,  startling  the  color  from  many  ^ 
cheek,  in  answer  to  the  Colonna,  saying  : 

"Tremble  !    Rienzi  shall  return  !  ** 


BOOK  VI. 

THE  PLAGUE. 

**  Erano  gli  anni  della  fruttifera  Incarnazione  del  Figliuolo  di  Dio  al  nu- 
mero  pervenuti  di  mille  trecento  quarant'otto,  quando  nell'  egregia  citta  di 
Fiorenza  oltre  ad  ogni  altra  Italica  bellissima,  pervenne  la  mortifera  pesti- 
fenza." — Boccaccio,  Introduzione  al Decamerone. 

"  The  years  of  the  fructiferous  incarnation  of  the  Son  of  God  had  reached 
the  number  of  one  thousand  three  hundred  and  forty-eight,  when  into  the  il- 
lustrious city  of  Florence,  beautiful  beyond  every  other  in  Italy,  entered  the 
death'fraught  pestilence." — Introduction  to  the  Decameron, 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  RETREAT  OF  THE  LOVER. 

By  the  bonders  of  one  of  the  fairest  lakes  of  Northern  Italy 
stood  the  favorite  mansion  of  Adrian  di  Castello,  to  which  in 
his  softer  and  less  patriotic  moments  his  imagination  had  often 
and  fondly  turned  ;  and  thither  the  young  nobleman,  dismiss- 
ing his  more  courtly  and  distinguished  companions  in  the  Nea- 


262  RIEN2I, 

poHtan  embassy,  retired  after  his  ill-starred  return  to  Rome. 
Most  of  tliose  thus  dismissed  joined  the  barons  ;  but  the  young 
Annibaldi,  whose  daring  and  ambitious  nature  had  attached 
him  strongly  to  the  Tribune,  maintained  a  neutral  ground  ;  he 
betook  himself  to  his  castle  in  the  Campagna,  and  did  not  re- 
turn to  Rome  till  the  expulsion  of  Rienzi. 

I  The  retreat  of  Irene's  lover  was  one  well  fitted  to  feed  his 
melancholy  reveries.  Without  being  absolutely  a  fortress,  it 
was  sufficiently  strong  to  resist  any  assault  of  the  mountain 
robbers  or  petty  tyrants  in  the  vicinity  ;  while,  built  by  some 
former  lord  from  the  materials  of  the  half-ruined  villas  of  the 
ancient  Romans,  its  marbled  columns  and  tesselated  pave- 
ments relieved  with  a  wild  grace  the  gray  stone  walls  and  mass- 
ive towers  of  feudal  masonry.  Rising  from  a  green  eminence 
gently  sloping  to  the  lake,  the  stately  pile  cast  its  shadow  far 
and  dark  over  the  beautiful  waters ;  by  its  side,  from  the  high 
and  wooded  mountains  on  the  background,  broke  a  waterfall, 
in  irregular  and  sinuous  course — now  hid  by  the  foliage,  now 
gleaming  in  the  light — and  collecting  itself  at  last  in  a  broad 
basin,  beside  which  a  little  fountain,  inscribed  with  half-oblit- 
erated letters,  attested  the  departed  elegance  of  the  classic  age- 
some  memento  of  lord  and  poet  whose  very  names  were  lost; 
thence  descending  through  moss  and  lichen,  and  odorous  herbs, 
a  brief,  sheeted  stream  bore  its  surplus  into  the  lake.  And 
there,  amidst  the  sturdier  and  bolder  foliage  of  the  North, 
grew,  wild  and  picturesque,  many  a  tree  transplanted,  in  ages 
back,  from  the  sunnier  East  ;  not  blighted  nor  stunted  in  that 
golden  clime,  which  fosters  almost  every  produce  of  nature  as 
with  a  mother's  care.  The  place  was  remote  and  solitary. 
The  roads  that  conducted  to  it  from  the  distant  towns  were 
tangled,  intricate,  mountainous,  and  beset  by  robbers.  A  few 
cottages,  and  a  small  convent,  a  quarter  of  a  league  up  the 
verdant  margin,  were  the  nearest  habitations  ;  and,  save  by 
some  occasional  pilgrim  or  some  bewildered  traveller,  the  lone- 
liness of  the  mansion  was  rarely  invaded.  It  was  precisely  the 
spot  which  proffered  rest  to  a  man  weary  of  the  world,  and  in- 
dulged the  memories  which  grow  in  rank  luxuriance  over  the 
wrecks  of  passion.  And  he  whose  mind,  at  once  gentle  and 
self-dependent,  can  endure  solitude,  might  have  ransacked  all 
earth  for  a  more  fair  and  undisturbed  retreat. 

But  not  to  such  a  solitude  had  the  earlier  dreams  of  Adrian 
dedicated  the  place.  Here  had  bethought — should  one  bright 
being  have  presided — here  should  love  have  found  its  haven  : 
and  hither,  when  love  at  length  admitted  ^of  intrusion,  hither 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  2O3 

might  wealth  and  congenial  culture  have  invited  all  the  gentler 
and  better  spirits  which  had  begun  to  move  over  the  troubled 
face  of  Italy,  promising  a  second  and  younger  empire  of  poesy, 
and  lore,  and  art.  To  the  graceful  and  romantic,  but  some- 
what pensive  and  inert,  temperament  of  the  young  noble,  more 
adapted  to  calm  and  civilized  than  stormy  and  barbarous  times, 
ambition  proffered  no  reward  so  grateful  as  lettered  leisure  and 
intellectual  repose.  His  youth  colored  by  the  influence  of  Pe- 
trarch, his  manhood  had  dreamed  of  a  happier  Vaucluse  not 
untenanted  by  a  Laura.  The  visions  which  had  connected 
the  scene  with  the  image  of  Irene  made  the  place  still  haunted  * 
by  her  shade  ;  and  time  and  absence  only  ministering  to  his 
impassioned  meditations,  deepened  his  melancholy  and  in- 
creased his  love. 

In  this  lone  retreat,  which  even  describing  from  memory — 
for  these  eyes  have  seen,  these  feet  have  trodden,  this  heart 
yet  yearneth  for,  the  spot — which  even,  I  say,  in  thus  describing, 
seems  to  me  (and  haply  also  to  the  gentle  reader)  a  grateful 
and  welcome  transit  from  the  storms  of  action  and  the  vicissi- 
tudes of  ambition,  so  long  engrossing  the  narrative  ;  in  this 
lone  retreat  Adrian  passed  the  winter,  which  visits  with  so  mild 
a  change  that  intoxicating  clime.  The  roar  of  the  world  with- 
out was  borne  but  in  faint  and  indistinct  murmurings  to  his 
ear.  He  learned  only  imperfectly,  and  with  many  contradic- 
tions, the  news  which  broke  like  a  thunderbolt  over  Italy,  that 
the  singular  and  inspiring  man — himself  a  revolution — who  had 
excited  the  interest  of  all  Europe,  the  brightest  hopes  of  the 
enthusiastic,  the  profusest  adulation  of  the  great,  the  deepest 
terror  of  the  despot,  the  wildest  aspirations  of  all  free  spirits, 
had  been  suddenly  stricken  from  his  state,  his  name  branded 
and  his  head  proscribed.  This  event,  which  happened  at  the 
end  of  December,  reached  Adrian,  through  a  wandering  pil- 
grim,,at  the  commencement  of  March,  somewhat  more  than 
two  months  after  the  date  ;  the  March  of  that  awful  year  1348, 
which  saw  Europe,  and  Italy  especially,  desolated  by  the  direst 
pestilence  which  history  has  recorded,  accursed  alike  by  the 
numbers  and  the  celebrity  of  its  victims,  and  yet  strangely  con- 
nected with  some  not  unpleasing  images  by  the  grace  of  Boc- 
caccio and  the  eloquence  of  Petrarch. 

The  pilgrim  who  informed  Adrian  of  the  revolution  at  Rome 
was  unable  to  give  iiim  any  clue  to  the  present  fate  of  Rienzi 
or  his  family.  It  was  only  known  that  the  Trii)une  and  his 
wife  had  esca|)ed,  none  knew  whither;  many  uuessed  that  they 
yfQVQ  £^lready  dead,  victims  19  the  numerous  robbers  who,  im* 


264  RIENZI, 

mediately  on  the  fall  of  the  Tribune,  settled  back  to  their 
former  habits,  sparing  neither  age  nor  sex,  wealth  nor  poverty. 
As  all  relating  to  the  ex-Tribune  was  matter  of  eager  interest, 
the  pilgrim  had  also  learned  that,  previous  to  the  fall  of  Rienzi, 
his  sister  had  left  Rome,  but  it  was  not  known  to  what  place 
Cihe  had  been  conveyed. 

The  news  utterly  roused  Adrian  from  his  dreaming  life. 
Irene  was  then  in  the  condition  his  letter  dared  to  picture — 
severed  from  her  brother,  fallen  from  her  rank,  desolate  and 
aiendless.  "  Now,"  said  the  generous  and  high-hearted  lover, 
■  she  may  be  mine  without  a  disgrace  to  my  name.  Whatever 
Rienzi's  faults,  she  is  not  implicated  in  them.  Her  hands  are 
not  red  with  my  kinsmen's  blood  ;  nor  can  man  say  that 
Adrian  di  Castello  allies  himself  with  a  house  whose  power  is 
built  upon  the  ruins  of  the  Colonnas.  The  Colonna  are  re- 
stored— again  triumphant ;  Rienzi  is  nothing.  Distress  and 
misfortune  unite  me  at  once  to  her  on  whom  they  fall  ! " 

But  how  were  these  romantic  resolutions  to  be  executed, 
Irene's  dwelling-place  unknown  ?  He  resolved  himself  to  re- 
pair to  Rome  and  make  the  necessary  inquiries ;  accordingly 
he  summoned  his  retainers — blithe  tidings  to  them,  those  of 
travel !  The  mail  left  the  armory,  the  banner  the  hall ;  and 
after  two  days  of  animated  bustle,  the  fountain  by  which 
Adrian  had  passed  so  many  hours  of  revery  was  haunted  only 
by  the  birds  of  the  returning  spring  ;  and  the  nightly  lamp  no 
longer  cast  its  solitary  ray  from  his  turret  chamber  over  the 
bosom  of  the  deserted  lake. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   SEEKER.  • 

It  was  a  bright,  oppressive,  sultry  morning,  when  a  solitary 
horseman  was  seen  winding  that  unequalled  road,  from  whose 
height,  amidst  fig-trees,  vines,  and  olives,  the  traveller  beholds 
gradually  break  upon  his  gaze  the  enchanting  valley  of  the 
Arno,  and  the  spires  and  domes  of  Florence.  But  not  with  the 
traveller's  customary  eye  of  admiration  and  delight  passed  that 
solitary  horseman,  and  not  upon  the  usual  activity,  and  mirth, 
and  .\nimp*i^n  of  the  Tuscan  life,  broke  that  noonday  sun. 
All  ■^'a'^  silent,  void,  and  hushed  ;  and  even  in  the  light  of 
he?  'cn  t'uer^  se^mec^  a  sicklied   and  ghastly  glare.     The  CQt* 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  26$ 

tages  by  the  roadside  were  some  shut  up  and  closed,  some 
open,  but  seemingly  inmateless.  The  plough  stood  still,  the 
distaff  plied  not  :  horse  and  man  had  a  dreary  holiday.  There 
was  a  darker  curse  upon  the  land  than  the  curse  of  Cain  !  Now 
and  then  a  single  figure,  usually  clad  in  the  gloomy  robe  of  a 
fiiar  crossed  the  road,  lifting  towards  the  traveller  a  livid  and 
ama.x'd  stare,  and  then  hurried  on,  and  vanished  beneath  some 
roof,  whence  issued  a  faint  and  dying  moan,  which  but  for  the 
exceeding  stillness  around  could  scarcely  have  pierced  the 
threshold.  As  the  traveller  neared  the  city  the  scene  became 
iCss  solitary,  yet  more  dread.  There  might  be  seen  carts  and 
litters,  thick  awnings  wrapped  closely  round  them,  containing 
those  who  sought  safety  in  flight,  forgetful  that  the  Plague  was 
everywhere  !  And  while  these  gloomy  vehicles,  conducted  by 
horses,  gaunt  shadowy  skeletons,  crawling  heavily  along,  passed 
by,  like  hearses  of  the  dead,  sometimes  a  cry  burst  the 
silence  in  which  they  moved,  and  the  traveller's  steed  started 
aside,  as  some  wretch,  on  whom  the  disease  had  broke  forth, 
was  dropped  from  the  vehicle  by  the  selfish  inhumanity  of  his 
comrades,  and  left  to  perish  by  the  way.  Hard  by  the  gate  a 
wagon  paused,  and  a  man  with  a  mask  threw  out  its  contents 
in  a  green,  slimy  ditch  that  bordered  the  road.  These  were 
garments  and  robes  of  all  kind  and  value  ;  the  broidered  man- 
tle of  the  gallant,  the  hood  and  veil  of  my  lady,  and  the  rags 
of  the  peasant.  While  glancing  at  the  labor  of  the  masker,  the 
cavalier  beheld  a  herd  of  swine,  gaunt  and  half-famished,  run 
to  the  spot  in  hopes  of  food,  and  the  traveller  shuddered  to 
.  hink  what  food  they  might  have  anticipated  §  But  ere  he 
reached  the  gate,  those  of  the  animals  that  had  been  busiest 
rooting  at  the  infectious  heap  dropped  down  dead  amongst 
th'Mr  fellows.* 

**  Ho,  ho,"  said  the  masker,  and  his  hollow  voice  sounded  yet 
r.riore  hollow  through  his  vizard,  "comest  thou  here  to  die, 
:.!i anger?  See,  thy  brave  mantle  of  triple-pile  and  golden 
.^roidery  will  not  save  thee  from  thegavocciolo.f  Ride  on,  ride 
on  •  to-day  fit  morsel  for  thy  lady's  kiss,  to-morrow  too  foul  for 
the  rat  and  worm  !  " 

Replying  not  to  this  hideous  welcome,  Adrian,  for  it  was  he, 
pursued  his  way.  The  gates  stood  wide  open  :  this  was  the 
...ost  appalling  sign  of  all,  for  at  first  the  most  jealous  pre- 
caution had  been  taken  against  the  ingress  of  strangers.  Now 
all  care,  all  foresight,  all  vigilance,  were  vain.     And  thrice  nine 

*  The  same  spectacle  greeted,  and  is  recorded  by,  Boccaccio, 
t  The  tumor  that  made  the  fatal  symptOR|i 


266  RIENZI^ 

warders  bad  died  at  that  single  post,  and  the  officers  to  ap- 
point their  successors  were  dead  too  !  Law  and  Police,  and 
the  Tribunals  of  Health,  and  the  Boards  of  Safety,  Death  had 
stopped  them  all !  And  the  Plague  killed  art  itself,  social 
union,  the  harmony  and  mechanism  of  civilization,  as  if  they 
had  been  bone  and  flesh  ! 

So,  mute  and  solitary,  went  on  the  lover,  in  his  quest  of  love, 
resolved  to  find  and  to  save  his  betrothed,  and  guided  (that 
faithful  and  loyal  knight  !)  through  the  Wilderness  of  Horror 
by  the  blessed  hope  of  that  strange  passion,  noblest  of  all  when 
noble,  basest  of  all  when  base  !  He  came  into  a  broad  and 
spacious  square  lined  with  palaces,  the  usual  haunt  of  the  best 
and  most  graceful  nobility  of  Italy.  The  stranger  was  alone 
now,  and  the  tramp  of  his  gallant  steed  sounded  ghastly  and 
fearful  in  his  own  ears,  when  just  as  he  turned  the  corner  of 
one  of  the  streets  that  led  from  it,  he  saw  a  woman  steal  forth 
with  a  child  in  her  arms,  while  another,  yet  in  infancy,  clung  to 
her  robe.  She  held  a  large  bunch  of  flowers  to  her  nostrils 
(the  fancied  and  favorite  mode  to  prevent  infection)  and  mut- 
tered to  the  children,  who  were  moaning  with  hunger  :  "Yes, 
yes,  you  shall  have  food  !  Plenty  of  food  now  for  the  stirring 
forth.  But  oh,  that  stirring  forth  /"  and  she  peered  about  and 
round,  lest  any  of  the  diseased  might  be  near. 

"  My  friend,"  said  he,  "  can  you  direct  me  to  the  convent 

of—" 

"  Away,  man,  away !  "  shrieked  the  woman. 

"  Alas  !"  said  Adrian,  with  a  mournful  smile,"  can  you  not 
see  that  I  am  not,  as  yet,  one  to  spread  contagion  ?  " 

But  the  woman,  unheeding  him,  fled  on  ;  when  after  a  few 
paces,  she  was  arrested  by  the  child  that  clung  to  her. 

"  Mother,  mother  !  "  it  cried,  "  I  am  sic!:,  I  cannot  stir." 

The  woman  halted,  tore  aside  the  child's  robe,  saw  under  the 
arm  the  fatal  tumor,  and,  deserting  her  own  flesh,  fled  with  a 
shriek  along  the  square.  The  shriek  rang  long  in  Adrian's 
ears,  though  not  aware  of  the  unnatural  cause  :  the  mother 
feared  not  for  her  i7ifa7it,  but  herself.  The  voice  of  nature  was 
no  more  heeded  in  that  charnel  city  than  it  is  in  the  tomb 
itself  !  Adrian  rode  on  at  a  brisker  pace,  and  came  at  length 
before  a  stately  church  ;  its  doors  were  wide  open,  and  he  saw 
within  a  company  of  monks  (the  church  had  no  other  worship- 
pers, and  they  were  masked)  gathered  round  the  altar  and 
chanting  the  Miserere  Do7nine ;  the  ministers  of  God,  in  a  city 
hitherto  boasting  the  devoutest  population  in  Italy,  without  # 
flock  I 


THE   LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  i6j 

The  young  cavalier  paused  before  the  door,  and  waited  till 
the  service  was  done,  and  the  monks  descended  the  steps  into 
the  street. 

"  Holy  fathers,"  said  he  then,  "  may  I  pray  your  goodness  to 
tell  me  my  nearest  way  to  the  convent  Santa  Maria  de* 
Pazzi?" 

"  Son,"  said  one  of  these  featureless  spectres,  for  so  they 
seemed  in  their  shroud-like  robes,  and  uncouth  vizards,  "  son, 
pass  on  your  way,  and  God  be  with  you.  Robbers  or  revellers 
may  now  fill  the  holy  cloisters  you  speak  of.  The  abbess  is 
dead  ;  and  many  a  sister  sleeps  with  her.  And  the  nuns  have 
fled  from  the  contagion." 

Adrian  half  fell  from  his  horse,  and,  as  he  still  remained 
rooted  to  the  spot,  the  dark  procession  swept  on,  hymning  in 
solemn  dirge  through  the  desolate  street  the  monastic  chant ; 

V  By  the  Mother  and  the  Son, 
Death  endured  and  mercy  won  ; 
Spare  us,  sinners  though  we  be  ; 
Miserere  D amine  !  " 

Recovering  from  his  stupor,  Adrian  regained  the  brethren, 
and,  as  they  closed  the  burthen  of  their  song,  again  accosted 
them  : 

"  Holy  fathers,  dismiss  me  not  thus.  Perchance  the  one  I 
seek  may  yet  be  heard  of  at  the  convent.  Tell  me  which  way 
to  shape  my  course." 

"'  Disturb  us  not,  son,"  said  the  monk  who  spoke  before.  "It 
is  an  ill  omen  for  thee  to  break  thus  upon  the  invocations  of 
the  ministers  of  Heaven." 

*'  Pardon,  pardon  !  I  will  do  ample  penance,  pay  many 
mabses  ;  but  I  seek  a  dear  friend — the  way — the  way — " 

"  To  the  right,  till  you  gain  the  first  bridge.  Beyond  the 
Vhird  bridge,  on  the  river  side,  you  will  find  the  convent,"  said 
mother  monk,  moved  by  the  earnestness  of  Adrian. 

"  Bless  you,  holy  father,"  faltered  forth  th-e  cavalier,  and 
spurred  his  steed  in  the  direction  given.  The  friars  heeded 
him  not,  but  again  resumed  their  dirge.  Mingled  with  the 
sound  of  his  horse's  hoofs  on  the  clattering  pavement,  came  to 
the  rider's  ear  th(j  imploring  line  : 

*'  Miserere  Domine  ! " 

Impatient,  sick  at  heart,  desperate,  Adrian  flew  through  the 
street  at  the  full  speed  of  his  horse.  He  passed  the  market- 
place— it  was  empty  as  the  desert ;  the  gloomy  and  barricadoed 
Streets,  in  which  the  counter  cries  of  Guelf  and  Ghibelline  had 


268  ftIEN21, 

SO  often  cheered  on  the  chivalry  and  rank  of  Florence.  Now 
huddled  together  in  vault  and  pit  lay  Guelf  and  Ghibelline, 
knightly  spurs  and  beggar's  crutch.  To  that  silence  the  roar 
even  of  civil  strife  would  have  been  a  blessing  !  The  first 
bridge,  the  river  side,  the  second,  the  third  bridge,  all  were 
gained,  and  Adrian  at  last  reined  his  steed  before  the  walls  of  the 
convent.  He  fastened  his  steed  to  the  porch,  in  which  the  door 
stood  ajar,  half  torn  from  its  hinges,  traversed  the  court,  gained 
the  opposite  door  that  admitted  to  the  main  building,  came  to 
the  jealous  grating,  now  no  more  a  barrier  from  the  profane 
world,  and  as  he  there  paused  a  moment  to  recover  breath  a-V 
nerve,  wild  laughter  and  loud  song,  interrupted  and  mixed  with 
oaths,  startled  his  ear.  He  pushed  aside  the  grated  door, 
entered,  and,  led  by  the  sounds,  came  to  the  refectory.  In 
that  meeting-place  of  the  severe  and  mortified  maids  of  heaven, 
he  now  beheld  gathered  round  the  upper  table,  used  of  yore  by 
the  abbess,  a  strange,  disorderly,  ruffian  herd,  who  at  first 
glance  seemed  indeed  of  all  ranks,  for  some  wore  serge,  or  even 
rags,  others  were  tricked  out  in  all  the  bravery  of  satin  and 
velvet,  plume  and  mantle.  But  a  second  glance  sufficed  to  in- 
dicate that  the  companions  were  much  of  the  same  degree,  and 
that  the  finery  of  the  more  showy  was  but  the  spoil  rent  from 
unguarded  palaces  or  tenantless  bazaars  ;  for  under  plumed 
hats,  looped  with  jewels,  were  grim,  unwashed,  unshaven  faces, 
over  which  hung  the  long  locks  which  the  professed  brethren 
of  the  sharp  knife  and  hireling  arm  had  just  begun  to  assume, 
serving  them  often  instead  of  a  mask.  Amidst  these  savage 
revellers  were  many  women,  young  and  middle-aged,  foul  and 
fair,  and  Adrian  piously  shuddered  to  see  amongst  the  loose 
robes  and  uncovered  necks  of  the  professional  harlots  the  saintly 
habit  and  beaded  rosary  of  nuns.  Flasks  of  wine,  ample  viands, 
gold  and  silver  vessels,  mostly  consecrated  to  the  holy  rites, 
strewed  the  board.  As  the  young  Roman  paused  spellbound 
at  the  threshold,  the  man  who  acted  as  president  of  the  revel,  a 
huge,  swarthy  ruffian,  with  a  deep  scar  over  his  face,  which,  trav- 
ersing the  whole  of  the  left  cheek  and  upper  lip,  gave  his  large 
features  an  aspect  preternaturally  hideous,  called  out  to  him  : 
*'  Come  in,  man  ;  come  in  !  Why  stand  you  there  amazed 
and  dumb  ?  We  are  hospitable  revellers,  and  give  all  men  wel- 
come. Here  are  wine  and  women.  My  Lord  Bishop's  wine 
and  my  Lady  Abbess's  women  ! 

**  Sing  hey,  sing  ho,  for  the  royal  Death, 
That  scatters  a  host  with  a  single  breath  ; 
That  opens  the  prison  to  spoil  the  palace. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  269 

And  rids  honest  necks  from  the  hangman's  malice. 

Here's  a  health  to  the  Plague  !     Let  the  mighty  ones  dread, 

The  poor  never  lived  till  the  vi^eahhy  were  dead. 

A  health  to  the  Plague  !     May  she  ever  as  now 

Loose  the  rogue  from  his  chain  and  the  nun  from  her  vow ; 

To  the  gaoler  a  sword,  to  the  captive  a  key. 

Hurrah  for  Earth's  Curse — 'tis  a  Blessing  to  me  ! " 

Ere  this  fearful  stave  was  concluded,  Adrian,  sensible  that 
iij  such  orgies  there  was  no  chance  of  prosecuting  his  inquiries, 
left  the  desecrated  chamber  and  fled,  scarcely  drawing  breath, 
so  great  was  the  terror  that  seized  him,  till  he  stood  once  more 
^n  the  court  amidst  the  hot,  sickly,  stagnant  sunlight,  that 
seemed  a  fit  atmosphere  for  the  scenes  on  which  it  fell.  He 
resolved,  however,  not  to  desert  the  place  without  making  another 
effort  at  inquiry  :  and  while  he  stood  without  the  court,  mus- 
ing and  doubtful,  he  saw  a  small  chap-el  hard  by,  through  whose 
long  casement  gleamed  faintly,  and  dimmed  by  the  noonday 
the  light  of  tapers.  He  turned  towards  its  porch,  entered,  and 
saw  beside  the  sanctuary  a  single  nun  kneeling  in  prayer.  In 
the  narrow  aisle,  upon  a  long  table  (at  either  end  of  which 
burned  the  tall  dismal  tapers  whose  rays  had  attracted  him)  the 
drapery  of  several  shrouds  showed  him  the  half-distinct  outline 
of  human  figures  hushed  in  death.  Adrian  himself,  impressed 
by  the  sadness  and  sanctity  of  the  place,  and  the  touching  sight 
of  that  solitary  and  unselfish  watcher  of  the  dead,  knelt  down 
and  intensely  prayed. 

As  he  rose,  somewhat  relieved  from  the  burthen  at  his  heart, 
the  nun  rose  also,  and  started  to  perceive  him. 

"Unhappy  man  ! "  said  she,  in  a  voice  which,  low,  faint,  and 
solemn,  sounded  as  a  ghost's ;  "  what  fatality  brings  thee 
hither?  Seest  thou  not  thou  art  in  the  presence  of  clay  which 
the  Plague  hath  touched  ;  thou  breathest  the  air  which  destroys  I 
Fence  !  and  search  throughout  all  the  desolation  for  one  spot 
;Vi.ere  the  Dark  Visitor  hath  not  come  !  " 

"  Holy  maiden,"  answered  Adrian,  "  the  danger  you  hazard 
cioes  not  appal  me  ;  I  seek  one  whose  life  is  dearer  than  my 
own." 

"  Thou  needest  say  no  more  to  tell  me  thou  art  newly  come 
to  Florence  !  Here  son  forsakes  his  father,  and  mother  deserts 
her  child.  When  life  is  most  hopeless  these  worms  of  a  day 
cling  to  it  as  if  it  were  the  salvation  of  immortality !  But  for 
me  alone  death  has  no  horror.  I>ong  severed  from  the  world, 
I  have  seen  my  sisterhood  perish  ;  the  house  of  God  desecrated, 
its  altar  overthrown,  and  I  care  not  to  survive, — the  last  whom 
♦he  r«fitiUr\P9t  If^vo?  at  once  unperjured  and  alive»" 


270  RIENZI, 

The  nun  paused  a  few  moments,  and  then,  looking  earnestly 
at  the  healthful  countenance  and  unbroken  frame  of  Adrian, 
sighed  heavily:  "Stranger,  why  fly  you  not?"  she  said. 
"  Thou  mightst  as  well  search  the  crowded  vaults  and  rotten 
corruption  of  the  dead,  as  search  the  city  for  one  living." 

"  Sister,  and  bride  of  the  blessed  Redeemer !  "  returned  the 
Roman,  clasping  his  hands  ;  *'one  word,  I  implore  thee.  Thou 
art,  methinks,  of  the  sisterhood  of  yon  dismantled  convent ; 
tell  me,  knowest  thou  if  Irene  di  Gabrini,*  guest  of  the  late 
Abbess,  sister  of  the  fallen  Tribune  of  Rome,  be  yet  amongst 
the  living? " 

"Art  thou  her  brother,  then?"  said  the  nun.  "Art  thou 
that  fallen  Sun  of  the  Morning?" 

"I  am  her  betrothed,"  replied  Adrian  sadly.     "Speak." 

** Oh,  flesh!  flesh!  how  art  thou  victor  to  the  last,  even 
amidst  the  triumphs  and  in  the  lazar-house  of  corruption  ! " 
said  the  nun.  "  Vain  man  !  think  not  of  such  carnal  ties  ; 
make  thy  peace  with  Heaven,  for  thy  days  are  surely  num- 
bered !  " 

"  Woman  !"  cried  Adrian  impatiently,  "talk  not  to  me  of 
myself,  nor  rail  against  ties  whose  holiness  thou  canst  not  know. 
I  ask  thee  again,  as  thou  thyself  hopest  for  mercy  and  for  par- 
don, is  Irene  living?" 

The  nun  was  awed  by  the  energy  of  the  young  lover,  and 
after  a  moment,  which  seemed  to  him  an  age  of  agonized  sus- 
pense, she  replied  : 

"  The  maiden  thou  speakest  of  died  not  with  the  general 
death.  In  the  dispersion  of  the  few  remaining,  she  left  the 
convent — I  know  not  whither  ;  but  she  had  friends  in  Florence — 
their  names  I  cannot  tell  thee." 

"  Now  bless  thee,  holy  sister  !  bless  thee  !  How  long  since 
she  left  the  convent  ?  " 

"  Four  days  have  passed  since  the  robber  and  the  harlot 
have  seized  the  house  of  Santa  Maria,"  replied  the  nun,  groan- 
ing:  "  and  they  were  quick  successors  to  the  sisterhood." 

"Four  days  !  and  thou  canst  give  me  no  clue?" 

"  None — yet  stay,  young  man  ! "  and  the  nun,  approaching, 
lowered  her  voice  to  a  hissing  whisper  :     "Ask  the  Becchini!'\ 

Adrian  started  aside,  crossed  himself  hastily,  and  quitted  the 
convent  without  answer.     He  returned  to  his  horse,  and  rode 


*  The  family  name  of  Rienzi  was  Gabrmi 

t  According  to  the  usual  custom  of  Florenc 

biers,  6upported  by  citi?;tn>  of  equal  rank  ; 

d  men  of  tne  lowest  dregs  of  the  populacCj -,  ,  — 

tiS^%  o(  tmn«&or{ing  th«  rf^^i^s  kiH  \\%  victtmsr    Tl)ca«  were  o«uca  fitceftiMt 


t  According  to  the  usual  custom  of  Florence,  the  dead  were  borne  to  their  resting-place 
•n  biers,  6upported  by  citi?;t;n>,  of  equal  rank  ;  but  a  new  trade  was  created  by  the  plague, 
and  men  of  the  lowest  dregs  of  the  populacCj  bribed  by  immense  payment,  aischar^ed  tli9 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  ?7C 

back  into  the  silenced  heart  of  the  city.  Tavern  and  hotel 
there  were  no  more  ;  but  the  palaces  of  dead  princes  were  free 
to  the  living  stranger.  He  entered  one — a  spacious  and 
splendid  mansion.  In  the  stables  he  found  forage  still  in  the 
manger  ;  but  the  horses,  at  that  time  in  the  Italian  cities  a 
proof  of  rank  as  well  as  wealth,  were  gone  with  the  hands  that 
fed  them.  The  high-born  knight  assumed  the  office  of  groom, 
took  off  the  heavy  harness,  fastened  his  steed  to  the  rack,  and 
as  the  wearied  animal,  unconscious  of  the  surrounding  horrors, 
fell  eagerly  upon  its  meal,  its  young  lord  turned  away,  and 
muttered,  "  Faithful  servant,  and  sole  companion  !  may  the 
pestilence  that  spareth  neither  beast  nor  man,  spare  thee  !  and 
mayst  thou  bear  me  hence  with  a  lighter  heart ! " 

A  spacious  hall,  hung  with  arms  and  banners,  a  wide  flight 
of  marble  stairs,  whose  walls  were  painted  in  the  stiff  outlines 
and  gorgeous  colors  of  the  day,  conducted  to  vast  chambers, 
hung  with  velvets  and  cloth  of  gold,  but  silent  as  the  tomb. 
He  threw  himself  upon  the  cushions  which  were  piled  in  the 
centre  of  the  room,  for  he  had  ridden  far  that  morning,  and 
for  many  days  before,  and  he  was  wearied  and  exhausted,  body 
and  limb  ;  but  he  could  not  rest.  Impatience,  anxiety,  hope, 
and  fear  gnawed  his  heart  and  fevered  his  veins,  and,  after  a 
brief  and  unsatisfactory  attempt  to  sober  his  own  thoughts, 
and  devise  some  plan  of  search  more  certain  than  that  which 
chance  might  afford  him,  he  rose,  and  traversed  the  apartments, 
in  the  unacknowledged  hope  which  chance  alone  could  suggest. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  had  made  his  resting-place  in  the 
home  of  one  of  the  princes  of  the  land  ;  and  the  splendor  of 
all  around  him  far  outshone  the  barbarous  and  rude  magnifi- 
cence of  the  less  civilized  and  wealthy  Romans.  Here,  lay  the 
lute  as  last  touched  ;  the  gilded  and  illumined  volume  as  last 
conned  ;  there,  were  seats  drawn  familiarly  together,  as  when 
iady  and  gallant  had  interchanged  whispers  last. 

"And  such,"  thought  Adrian,  "such  desolation  may  soon 
swallow  up  the  vestige  of  the  unwelcomed  guest,  as  of  the 
vanished  lord  !  " 

At  length  he  entered  a  saloon,  in  which  was  a  table  still 
spread  with  wine-flasks,  goblets  of  glass,  and  one  of  silver, 
\fithered  flowers,  half-mouldy  fruits,  and  viands.  At  one  side 
the  arras  folding-doors  opened  to  a  broad  flight  of  stairs,  that 
descended  to  a  little  garden  at  the  back  of  the  house,  in  which 
a  fountain  still  played  sparkling  and  livingly — the  only  thing, 
save  the  stranger,  living  there  !  On  the  steps  lay  a  crimson 
mantle,  and  by  it  a  lady's  glove.     The  relics  seemed  to  speak 


272  R1EN2I 


to  the  lover's  heart  of  a  lover's  last  wooing  and  last  farewell. 
He  groaned  aloud,  and  feeling  he  should  have  need  of  all  his 
strength,  filled  one  of  the  goblets  from  a  half-emptied  flask  of 
Cyprus  wine.  He  drained  the  draught  ;  it  revived  him. 
"  Now,"  he  said,  "  once  more  to  my  task  !  I  will  sally  lorth," 
when  suddenly  he  heard  heavy  steps  along  the  rooms  he  had 
quitted  ;  they  approached  ;  they  entered  ;  and  Adrian  beheld 
two  huge  and  ill-omened  forms  stalk  into  the  chamber.  They 
were  wrapped  in  black  homely  draperies,  their  arms  were  bare, 
and  they  wore  large  shapeless  masks,  which  descended  to  the 
breast,  leaving  only  access  to  sight  and  breath  in  three  small 
and  circular  apertures.  The  Colonna  half  drew  his  sword,  for 
the  forms  and  aspects  of  these  visitors  were  not  such  as  men 
think  to  look  upon  in  safety. 

"Oh  !"  said  one,  "the  palace  has  a  new  guest  to-day.  Fear 
us  not,  stranger ;  there  is  room, — ay,  and  wealth  enough  for 
all  men  now  in  Florence  !  Per  Bacco  !  but  there  is  still  one 
goblet  of  silver  left — how  comes  that  ?"  So  saying,  the  man 
seized  the  cup  which  Adrian  had  just  drained,  and  thrust  it 
into  his  breast.  He  then  turned  to  Adrian,  whose  hand  was 
still  upon  his  hilt,  and  said,  with  a  laugh  which  came  choked 
and.  muffled  through  his  vizard  :  "  Oh,  we  cut  no  throats,  sig- 
ner; the  Invisible  spares  us  that  trouble.  We  are  honest  men, 
State  officers,  and  come  but  to  see  if  the  cart  should  halt  here 
to-night." 

"  Ye  are  then—" 

"  Becchini." 

Adrian's  blood  ran  cold.  The  Becchino  continued  :  "  And 
keep  you  this  house  while  you  rest  at  Florence,  signor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  the  rightful  lord  claim  it  not." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  '  Rightful  lord  ! '  The  Plague  is  lord  of  all  now  ! 
Why,  I  have  known  three  gallant  companies  tenant  this  palace 
the  last  week,  and  have  buried  them  all — all.  It  is  a  pleasant 
house  enough,  and  gives  good  custom.     Are  you  alone  ?  " 

"  At  present,  yes." 

"Show  us  where  you  sleep,  that  we  may  know  where  to 
come  for  you.     You  won't  want  us  these  three  days,  I  see." 

"  Ye  are  pleasant  welcomers  !  "  said  Adrian  ;  "  but  listen  to 
me.  Can  ye  find  the  living  as  well  as  bury  the  dead  ?  I  seek 
one  in  this  city  who,  if  you  discover  her,  shall  be  worth  to  you 
a  year  of  burials." 

"  No,  no  !  that  is  out  of  our  line.  As  well  look  for  a  dropped 
sand  on  the  beach,  as  for  a  living  being  amongst  closed 
houses  and  yawning  vaults  ;  but  if  you  will  pay  the  poor  grave* 


THE    LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES^  273 

diggers  beforehand,  I  promise  you,  you  shall  have  the  first  of 
a  new  charnel-house  ;  it  will  be  finished  just  about  your  time." 

*'  There,"  said  Adrian,  flinging  the  wretches  a  few  pieces  of 
gold;  "there!  and  if  you  would  do  me  kinder  service,  leave 
sne,  at  least  while  living  ;  or  ]  may  save  you  that  trouble." 
And  he  turned  from  the  room. 

The  Becchino  who  had  been  spokesman  followed  him. 
"You  are  generous,  signor,  stay  ;  you  will  want  fresher  food 
than  these  filthy  fragments.  1  will  supply  thee  of  the  best, 
while — while  thou  wantest  it.  And  hark  !  whom  wishest  thou 
that  I  should  seek  }  " 

This  question  arrested  Adrian's  departure.  He  detailed  the 
name,  and  all  the  particulars  he  could  suggest  of  Irene;  and, 
with  sickened  heart,  described  the  hair,  features,  and  statrre 
of  that  lovely  and  hallowed  image,  which  might  furnish  a  theme 
to  the  poet,  and  now  gave  a  clue  to  the  grave-digger. 

The  unhallowed  apparition  shook  his  head  when  Adrian  had 
concluded.  "  Full  five  hundred  such  descriptions  did  I  hear 
in  the  first  days  of  the  Plague,  when  there  were  still  such  things  as 
mistress  and  lover  ;  but  it  is  a  dainty  catalogue,  signor,  and  it 
will  be  a  pride  to  the  poor  Becchino  to  discover  or  even  to 
bury  so  many  charms  !  I  will  do  my  best  ;  meanwhile,  I  can 
recommend  you,  if  in  a  hurry,  to  make  the  best  use  of  youi 
time,  to  many  a  pretty  face  and  comely  shape — " 

"Out,  fiend  !  "  muttered  Adrian  :  *'  fool  to  waste  time  with 
such  as  thou  !  " 

The  laugh  of  the  grave-digger  followed  his  steps. 

All  that  day  did  Adrian  wander  through  the  city,  but  search 
and  question  were  alike  unavailing  ;  all  whom  he  encountered 
and  interrogated  seemed  to  regard  him  as  a  madman,  and 
these  were  indeed  of  no  kind  likely  to  advance  his  object. 
Wild  troops  of  disordered,  drunken  revellers,  processions  oi 
monks,  or  here  and  there  scattered  individuals  gliding  rapidly 
along,  and  shunning  all  approach  or  speech,  made  the  only 
!iaunters  of  the  dismal  streets,  till  the  sun  sunk,  lurid  and  yel 
kw,  behind  the  hills,  and  Darkness  closed  around  the  noise 
less  pathway  of  the  Pestilence. 


274  RIENZI, 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    FLOWERS    AMIDST    THE    TOMBS. 

Adrian  found  tluit  the  Becchino  had  taken  care  that  fam« 
ine  should  not  forestall  the  plague;  the  banquet  of  the  dead 
was  removed,  and  fresh  viands  and  wines  of  all  kinds, — for 
there  was  plenty  then  in  Florence  ! — spread  the  table.  He 
partook  of  the  refreshment,  though  but  sparingly,  and  slirink- 
ing  from  repose  in  beds  beneath  whose  gorgeous  hangings 
Death  had  been  so  lately  busy,  carefully  closed  door  and  wm- 
dow,  wrapped  himself  in  his  mantle,  and  found  his  resting- 
place  on  the  cushions  of  the  chamber  in  which  he  had  supped. 
Fatigue  cast  him  into  an  unquiet  slumber,  from  which  he  was 
suddenly  awakened  by  the  roll  of  a  cart  below,  and  the  jingle 
of  bells.  He  listened,  as  the  cart  proceeded  slowly  from  door 
to  door,  and  at  length  its  sound  died  away  in  the  distance. 
He  slept  no  more  that  night  ! 

The  sun  had  not  long  risen  ere  he  renewed  his  labors  ;  and 
it  was  yet  early  when,  just  as  he  passed  a  church,  two  ladies 
richly  dressed  came  from  the  porch,  and  seemed  through  their 
vizards  to  regard  the  young  cavalier  with  earnest  attention. 
The  gaze  arrested  him  also,  when  one  of  the  ladies  said:  "  Fair 
sir,  you  are  over-bold  :  you  wear  no  mask  ;  neither  do  you 
smell  to  flowers." 

"  Lady,  I  wear  no  mask,  for  I  would  be  seen:  I  search  these 
miserable  places  for  one  in  whose  life  I  live." 

"  He  is  young,  comely,  evidently  noble,  and  the  plague  hath 
not  touched  him:  he  will  serve  our  purpose  well,"  whispered 
one  of  the  ladies  to  the  other. 

"  You  echo  my  own  thoughts,"  returned  her  companion  ; 
and  then  turning  to  Adrian,  she  said,  "  You  seek  one  you  are 
not  wedded  to,  if  you  seek  so  fondly  ? " 

"  It  is  true." 

*'  Young  and  fair,  with  dark  hair  and  neck  of  snow  ;  I  will 
conduct  yru  to  her." 

"Sigr^ra!" 

"  Follow  us  !  " 

*'  Know  you  whom  I  am,  and  whom  I  seek  ?** 

"Yes." 

"Can  you  in  truth  tell  me  aught  of  Irene?" 

"  I  can  •.  follow  me." 

"Toiler?" 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  275 

"Yes,  yes:  follow  us  !  ** 

The  ladies  moved  on  as  if  impatient  of  further  parley. 
Amazed,  doubtful,  and  as  if  in  a  dream,  Adrian  followed  them. 
Their  dress,  manner,  and  the  pure  Tuscan  of  the  one  who  had 
addressed  him,  indicated  them  of  birth  and  station  ;  but  all 
else  was  a  riddle  which  he  could  not  solve. 

They  arrived  at  one  of  the  bridges,  where  a  litter  and  a  ser- 
vant on  horseback  holding  a  palfrey  by  the  bridle  were  in  at- 
tendance. The  ladies  entered  the  litter,  and  she  who  had  be- 
fore spoken  bade  Adrian  follow  on  the  palfrey. 

"But  tell  me — "  he  began. 

"  No  questions,  cavalier,"  said  she  impatiently;  "follow  the 
living  in  silence,  or  remain  with  the  dead,  as  you  list." 

With  that  the  litter  proceeded,  and  Adrian  mounted  the  palfrey 
wonderingly,  and  followed  his  strange  conductors,  who  moved 
on  at  a  tolerably  brisk  pace.  They  crossed  the  bridge,  left 
the  river  on  one  side,  and,  soon  ascending  a  gentle  declivity, 
the  trees  and  flowers  of  the  country  began  to  succeed  dull 
walls  and  empty  streets.  After  proceeding  thus  somewhat  less 
than  half  an  hour,  they  turned  up  a  green  lane  remote  from 
the  road,  and  came  suddenly  upon  the  porticoes  of  a  fair  and 
stately  palace.  Here  the  ladies  descended  from  their  litter  ; 
and  Adrian,  who  had  vainly  sought  to  extract  speech  from  the 
attendant,  also  dismounted,  and  following  them  across  a  spa- 
cious court,  filled  on  either  side  with  vases  of  flowers  and 
orange-trees,  and  then  through  a  wide  hall  in  the  further  side 
of  the  quadrangle,  found  himself  in  one  of  the  loveliest  spots 
eye  ever  saw  or  poet  ever  sung.  It  was  a  garden  plot  of  the 
most  emerald  verdure  ;  bosquets  of  laurel  and  of  myrtle  opened 
on  either  side  into  vistas  half  overhung  with  clematis  and  rose, 
through  whose  arcades  the  prospect  closed  with  statues  and, 
gushing  fountains  ;  in  front,  the  lawn  was  bounded  by  rows  of 
vases  on  marble  pedestals  filled  with  flowers  ;  and  broad  and 
gradual  flights  of  steps  of  the  whitest  marble  led  from  terrace 
to  terrace,  each  adorned  with  statues  and  fountains,  half  way 
down  a  high  but  softly  sloping  and  verdant  hill.  Beyond, 
spread  in  wide,  various,  and  luxurious  landscape,  the  vine- 
yards and  olive-groves,  the  villas  and  villages,  of  the  Vale  of 
Arno,  intersected  by  the  silver  river,  while  the  city,  in  all  its 
calm,  but  without  its  horror,  raised  its  roofs  and  spires  to  the 
sun.  Birds  of  every  hue  and  song,  some  free,  some  in  net- 
work of  golden  wire,  warbled  round  :  and  upon  the  centre 
of  the  sward  reclined  four  ladies  unmasked  and  richly  dressed, 
the  eldest  of  whom  «€emt(i  scarcely  mec^.  thun  twenty ;  ^nd 


276  '  RIENZI, 

five  cavaliers,  young  and  handsome,  whose  jewelled  vests  and 
golden  chains  attested  their  degree.  Wines  and  fruit  were  on 
a  low  table  beside  ;  and  musical  instruments,  chess-boards, 
and  gammon-tables,  lay  scattered  all  about.  So  fair  a  group, 
and  so  graceful  a  scene,  Adrian  never  beheld  but  once,  and 
that  was  in  the  midst  of  theghastly  pestilence  of  Italy  ! — such  a 
group  and  such  scene  our  closet  indolence  may  yet  revive  in 
the  pages  of  the  bright  Boccaccio  ! 

On  seeing  Adrian  and  his  companions  approach  the  party 
'•ose  instantly  ;  and  one  of  the  ladies,  who  wore  upon  her  head 

wreath  of  laurel-leaves,  stepping  before  the  rest,  exclaimed, 
*  Well  done,  my  Mariana  !  welcome  back,  my  fair  subjects. 
And  you,  sir,  welcome  hither." 

The  two  guides  of  the  Colonna  had  by  this  time  removed 
their  masks  ;  and  the  one  who  had  accosted  him,  shaking 
her  long  and  raven  ringlets  over  a  bright  laughing  eye  and  a 
cheek  to  whose  native  olive  now  rose  a  slight  blush,  turned  to 
him  ere  he  could  reply  to  the  welcome  he  had  received. 

"  Signor  Cavalier,"  said  she,  *'  you  now  see  to  what  I  have  de- 
coyed you.  Own  that  this  is  pleasanter  than  the  sights  and 
sounds  of  the  city  we  have  left.  You  gaze  on  me  in  surprise  ! 
See,  my  Queen,  how  speechless  the  marvel  of  your  court  has 
made  our  new  gallant  ;  I  assure  you  he  could  talk  quickly 
enough  when  he  had  only  us  to  confer  with  :  nay,  I  was  forced 
to  impose  silence  on  him." 

"  Oh  I  then  you  have  not  yet  informed  him  of  the  custom 
and  origin  of  the  court  he  enters?"  quoth  she  of  the  laurel 
wreath. 

*'  No,  my  Queen  ;  I  thought  all  description  given  in  such  a 
spot  as  our  poor  Florence  now  is  would  fail  of  its  object.  My 
task  is  done,  I  resign  him  to  your  Grace  ! " 

So  saying  the  lady  tripped  lightly  away,  and  began  coquet- 
ishly  sleeking  her  locks  in  the  smooth  mirror  of  a  marble  basin, 
whose  waters  trickled  over  the  margin  upon  the  glass  below, 
ever  and  anon  glancing  archly  towards  the  stranger,  and  suffi- 
ciently at  hand  to  overhear  all  that  was  said. 

"  In  the  first  place,  Signor,  permit  us  to  inquire,"  said  the  lady 
who  bore  the  appellation  of  Queen,  "  thy  name,  rank,  and  birth- 
place." 

"  Madam,"  returned  Adrian,  "  I  came  hither  little  dreaming 
to  answer  questions  respecting  myself  ;  but  what  it  pleases  you 
to  ask,  it  must  please  me  to  reply  to.  My  name  is  Adrian  di 
Castello,  one  of  the  Roman  house  of  the  Colonna." 

**A  tieblf  column  eC  «  nobie  houst  I  "  answered  the  Queen^ 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  ±fj 

"For  IIS,  respecting  v;ho:v:  your  curiosity  may  perhaps  be 
aroused,  know  that  we  six  ladies  of  Florence,  deserted  by  or 
deprived  of  our  kin  and  protectors,  formed  the  resolution  to 
retire  to  this  palace,  where,  if  death  come,  it  comes  stripped  of 
half  its  horrors ;  and  as  the  learned  tell  us  that  sadness 
engenders  the  awful  malady,  so  you  see  us  sworn  foes  to  sad- 
ness. Six  cavaliers  of  our  acquaintance  agreed  to  join  us. 
We  pass  our  days,  whether  many  or  few,  in  whatever  diver- 
sions we  can  find  or  invent.  Music  and  the  dance,  merry  tales 
and  lively  songs,  with  such  slight  change  of  scene  as  from  sward 
to  shade,  from  alley  to  fountain,  fill  up  our  time,  and  prep:  ' 
us  for  peaceful  sleep  and  happy  dreams.  Each  lady  is  by  turns 
Queen  of  our  fairy  court,  as  is  my  lot  this  day.  One  law 
forms  the  code  of  our  constitution — that  nothing  sad  shall  be 
admitted.  We  would  live  as  if  yonder  city  were  not,  and  as  if 
(added  the  fair  Queen,  with  r.  slight  sigh)  youth,  grace,  and 
beauty,  could  endure  forever.  One  of  our  knights  madly  left  us 
for  a  day,  promising  to  return  ;  we  have  seen  him  no  more  ;  we 
will  not  guess  what  hath  chanced  to  him.  It  became  neces- 
sary to  fill  up  his  place  ;  we  drew  lots  who  should  seek  his 
substitute;  it  fell  on  the  ladies  who  have — not,  I  trust  to  your 
displeasure — brought  you  hither.  Fair  sir,  my  explanation  is 
made." 

"  Alas,  lovely  Queen,"  said  Adrian,  wrestling  strongly,  but 
vainly,  with  the  bitter  disappointment  he  felt ;  *'I  cannot  be 
one  of  your  happy  circle  ;  I  am  in  myself  a  violation  of  your 
law.  I  am  filled  with  but  one  sad  and  anxious  thought  to 
which  all  mirth  would  seem  impiety.  I  am  a  seeker 
amongst  the  living  and  the  dead  for  one  being  of  whose  fate  I 
am  uncertain  ;  and  it  was  only  by  the  words  that  fell  from 
my  fair  conductor  that  I  have  been  decoyed  hither  from  my 
mournful  task.  Suffer  me,  gracious  lady,  to  return  to  Flor- 
ence." 

The  Queen  looked  in  mute  vexation  towards  the  dark-eyed 
Mariana,  who  returned  the  glance  by  one  equally  expressive., 
and  then  suddenly  stepping  up  to  Adrian  she  said  : 

**  But,  signor,  if  I  should  still  keep  my  promise;  if  I  should 
be  able  to  satisfy  thee  of  the  health  and  safety  of — of 
Irene." 

"  Irene  i  "  echoed  Adrian  in  surprise,  forgetful  at  the  mo- 
ment that  he  had  before  revealed  the  name  of  her  he  sought; 
**  Irene — Irene  di  Gabrini,  sister  of  the  once-renowned 
Rienzi  !  " 

"  The  same,"  replied  Mariana  quickly  ;  "  I  knew  her,  as  I 


2'jS  RIENZI, 

told  you.  Nay,  signor,  I  do  not  deceive  thee.  It  is  true 
that  I  cannot  bring  thee  to  her  ;  but  better  as  it  is,-  rshe 
went  away  many  days  ago  to  one  of  the  towns  of  lom- 
bardy,  which,  they  say,  the  pestilence  has  not  yet  pierced. 
Now,  noble  sir,  is  not  your  heart  lightened  ?  and  will  you  so 
soon  be  a  deserter  from  the  Court  of  Loveliness ;  and  per- 
haps," she  added,  with  a  soft  look  from  her  large,  dark  eyes, 
"of  Love?" 

"  Dare  I,  in  truth,  believe  you,  lady  ?  "  said  Adrian,  all  de- 
lighted, yet  still  half  doubting. 

"Would  I  deceive  a  true  lover,  as  methinks  you  are?  Be 
acsured.     Nay,  Queen,  receive  your  subject." 

The  Queen  extended  her  hand  to  Adrian,  and  led  him  to 
the  group  that  ;.till  stood  on  the  grass  at  a  little  distance.  They 
welcomed  him  as  a  brother,  and  soon  forgave  his  abstracted 
courtesies,  in  compliment  to  his  good  mien  and  illustrious 
name. 

The  Queen  clapped  her  hands,  and  the  party  again  ranged 
themselves  on  the  sward,  each  lady  beside  each  gallant. 
"  You,  Mariana,  if  not  fatigued,"  said  the  Queen,  "  shall  take 
the  lute  and  silence  these  noisy  grasshoppers,  which  chirp 
about  us  with  as  much  pretension  as  if  they  were  nightingales. 
Sing,  sweet  subject,  sing :  and  let  it  be  the  song  our  dear 
friend,  Signor  Visdomini,"^"'  made  for  a  kind  of  inaugural  an- 
them to  such  as  we  admitted  to  our  court." 

Mariana,  who  had  reclined  herself  by  the  side  of  Adrian, 
took  up  the  lute,  and,  after  a  short  prelude,  sung  the  words 
thus  imperfectly  translated : 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  FLORENTINE  LADY. 

Enjoy  the  more  the  smiles  of  noon 

If  doubtful  be  the  morrow  ; 
And  know  the  Fort  of  Life  is  soon 

Betray'd  to  Death  by  Sorrow  ! 

Death  claims  us  all — then,  Grief,  away  I 

We'll  own  no  meaner  master  ; 
The  clouds  that  darken  round  the  day 

But  bring  the  night  the  faster. 

Love — feast — be  merry  while  on  earth, 

Such,  Grave,  should  be  thy  moral ! 
Ev'n  Death  himself  is  friends  with  Mirth, 

And  veils  the  tomb  with  laurel. f 

*  I  know  not  if  this  be  the  same  Visdomini  who,  three  years  afterwards,  with  one  of  the 
Medici,  conducted  so  gallant  a  reinforcement  to  Scarperia,  then  besieged  by  Visconti 
d'Oleggio. 

At  that  time,  in  Italy,  the  laurel  was  frequently  planted  over  the  dead. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  279 

While  gazing  on  the  eyes  I  love. 

New  life  to  mine  is  given — 
If  joy  the  lot  of  saints  above, 

Joy  fits  us  best  for  Heaven. 

To  this  song,  which  was  much  applauded,  succeeded  r.iose 
light  and  witty  tales  in  which  the  Italian  novelist  furnished 
Voltaire  and  Marmontel  with  a  model,  each,  in  his  or  her  turn, 
taking  up  the  discourse,  and  with  an  equal  dexterity  avoiding 
every  lugubrious  image  or  mournful  reflection  that  might 
remind  those  graceful  idlers  of  the  vicinity  of  Death.  At  any 
other  time  the  temper  and  accomplishments  of  the  young  Lord 
di  Castello  would  have  fitted  him  to  enjoy  and  to  shine  in  that 
Arcadian  court.  But  now  he  in  vain  sought  to  dispel  the  gloom 
from  his  brow,  and  the  anxious  thought  from  his  heart.  He 
revolved  the  intelligence  he  had  received,  wondered,  guessed, 
hoped,  and  dreaded  still  ;  and  if  for  a  moment  his  mind  re- 
turned to  the  scene  about  him,  his  nature,  too  truly  poetical  for 
the  false  sentiment  of  the  place,  asked  itself  in  what,  save  the 
polished  exterior  and  the  graceful  circumstance,  the  mirth 
that  he  now  so  reluctantly  witnessed  differed  from  the  brutal 
revels  in  the  convent  of  Santa  Maria — each  alike  in  its  motive, 
though  so  differing  in  the  manner  ;  equally  callous  and  equally 
selfish,  coining  horror  into  enjoyment.  The  fair  Mariana, 
whose  partner  had  been  reft  from  her,  as  the  Queen  had  re- 
lated, was  in  no  mind  to  lose  the  new  one  she  had  gained. 
She  pressed  upon  him  from  time  to  time  the  wine-flask  and  the 
fruits  ;  and  in  those  unmeaning  courtesies  her  hand  gently 
lingered  upon  his.  At  length  the  hour  arrived  when  the  com- 
panions retired  to  the  Palace,  during  the  fiercer  heats  of  noon, 
to  come  forth  again  in  the  declining  sun,  to  sup  by  the  side  of 
the  fountain,  to  dance,  to  sing,  and  to  make  merry  by  torch- 
light and  the  stars  till  the  hour  of  rest.  But  Adrian,  not  will- 
ing to  continue  the  entertainment,  no  sooner  found  himself  in 
the  apartment  to  which  he  was  conducted,  than  he  resolved  to 
effect  a  silent  escape,  as  under  all  circumstances  the  shortest, 
and  not  perhaps  the  least  courteous,  farewell  left  to  him.  Ac- 
cordingly, when  all  seemed  quiet  and  hushed  in  the  repose 
common  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  South  during  that  hour,  he 
left  his  apartment,  descended  the  stairs,  passed  the  outer  court, 
and  was  already  at  the  gate,  when  he  heard  himself  called  by  a 
voice  that  spoke  vexation  and  alarm.  He  turned  to  behold 
Mariana. 

"  Why,  how  now,  Signor  di  Castello,  is  our  company'  so  un- 
pleasing,  is  otir  music  so  jarring,  or  are  our  brows  so  wrinkled, 


2So  RTENZT, 

that  you  should  fly  as  the  traveller  flies  from  the  witches  he 
surprises  at  Benevento?  Nay,  you  cannot  mean  to  leave  us 
yet  ?  " 

"  Fair  d?.me,"  returned  the  cavalier,  somewhat  disconcerted, 

it  is  in  vain  that  I  seek  to  rally  my  mournful  spirits,  or  to  fit 
.nyself  for  the  court  to  which  nothing  sad  should  come.  Your 
laws  hang  about  me  like  a  culprit — better  timely  flight  than 
narsh  expulsion." 

As  he  spoke  he  moved  on,  and  would  have  passed  the  gate, 
out  Mariana  caught  his  arm. 

"  Nay,"  said  she  softly,  "  are  there  no  eyes  of  dark  light, 
and  no  neck  of  wintry  snow,  that  can  compensate  to  thee 
>  .r  the  absent  one  ?  Tarry  and  forget,  as  doubtless  in  absence 
even  thou  art  forgotten  !" 

"  Lady,"  answered  Adrian,  with  great  gravity,  not  unmixed 
with  an  ill-suppressed  disdain,  **  I  have  not  sojourned  long 
enough  amidst  the  sights  and  sounds  of  woe  to  blunt  my  heart 
and  spirit  into  callousness  to  all  around.  Enjoy,  if  thou  canst, 
and  gather  the  rank  roses  of  the  sepulchre  ;  but  to  me,  haunted 
still  by  funeral  images,  Beauty  fails  to  bring  delight,  and 
Love — even  holy  love — seems  darkened  by  the  Shadow  of 
Death.     Pardon  me,  and  farewell," 

"  Go,  then,"  said  the  Florentine,  stung  and  enraged  at  his 
coldness  ;  "  go  and  find  your  mistress  amidst  the  associations 
on  which  it  pleases  your  philosophy  to  dwell.  I  did  but  de- 
ceive thee,  blind  fool  !  as  I  had  hoped  for  thine  own  good,  when 
I  told  thee  Irene — (was  that  her  name  ?) — was  gone  from  Flor- 
ence. Of  her  I  know  nought,  and  heard  nought,  save  from 
thee.  Go  back  and  search  the  vault,  and  see  whether  thou 
uvest  her  still ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WE  OBTAIN   WHAT   WE   SEEK,    AND   KNOW    IT  NOT. 

In  the  fiercest  heat  of  the  day,  and  on  foot,  Adrian  returned 
to  Florence.  As  he  approached  the  city,  all  that  festive  and 
gallant  scene  he  had  quitted  seemed  to  him  like  a  dream  ; 
a  vision  of  the  gardens  and  bowers  of  an  enchantress,  from 
which  he  woke  abruptly  as  a  criminal  may  wake  on  the  morn- 
ing of  his  doom  to  see  the  scaffold  and  the  deathsman  ;  so 
much  did  each  silent  and  lonely  step  into  the  funeral  city  bring 
^ack  his  bewildered  thoughts  at  once  to  life  and  to  death.  The 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  28l 

parting  words  of  Mariana  sounded  like  a  knell  at  his  heart. 
And  now  as  he  passed  on — the  heat  of  the  day,  the  lurid  atmos- 
phere, long  fatigue,  alternate  exhaustion  and  excitement,  com- 
bined with  the  sickness  of  disappointment,  the  fretting  con- 
sciousness of  precious  moments  irretrievably  lost,  and  his  utter 
despair  of  forming  any  systematic  mode  of  search — fever  began 
rapidly  to  burn  through  his  veins.  His  temples  felt  oppressed 
p'i  with  the  weight  of  a  mountain  ;  his  lips  parched  with  intol- 
erable thirst ;  his  strength  seemed  suddenly  to  desert  him  ;  and 
it  was  with  pain  and  labor  that  he  dragged  one  languid  limb 
after  the  other. 

"I  feel  it,"  thought  he,  with  the  loathing  nausea  and  shiver- 
ing dread  with  which  nature  struggles  ever  against  death  ;  **  I 
feel  it  upon  me — the  Devouring  and  the  Viewless  ;  I  shall  per- 
ish, and  without  saving  her  ;  nor  shall  even  one  grave  contain 


us 


But  these  thoughts  served  rapidly  to  augment  the  disease 
which  began  to  prey  upon  him  ;  and  ere  he  reached  the  in- 
terior of  the  city,  even  thought  itself  forsook  him.  The  im- 
ages of  men  and  houses  grew  indistinct  and  shadowy  before  his 
eyes  ;  the  burning  pavement  became  unsteady  and  reeling  be- 
neath his  feet ;  delirium  gathered  over  him;  and  he  went  on 
his  way  muttering  broken  and  incoherent  words  ;  the  few  who 
met  tied  from  him  in  dismay.  Even  the  monks,  still  continu- 
ing their  solemn  and  sad  processions,  passed  with  a  mur- 
mured dene  vobis  to  the  other  side  from  that  on  which  his  steps 
swerved  and  faltered.  And  from  a  booth  at  the  corner  of  a 
street,  four  Becchini,  drinking  together,  fixed  upon  him  from 
their  black  masks  the  gaze  that  vultures  fix  upon  some  dying 
wanderer  of  the  desert.  Still  he  crept  on,  stretching  out  his 
aims  like  a  man  in  the  dark,  and  seeking,  with  the  vague  sense 
that  yet  struggled  against  the  gathering  delirium,  to  find  out 
the  mansion  in  which  he  had  fixed  his  home  ;  though  many  as 
fair  to  live,  and  as  meet  to  die  in,  stood  with  open  portals  be- 
fore and  beside  his  path. 

'*  Irene,  Irene  !  "  he  cried,  sometimes  in  a  muttered  and  low 
tone,  sometimes  in  a  wild  and  piercing  shriek,  "where  art 
thou  ?  Where  ?  I  come  to  snatch  thee  from  them  ;  they  shall 
not  have  thee,  the  foul  and  ugly  fiends  !  Pah  !  how  the  air 
smells  of  dead  flesh  !  Irene,  Irene  !  we  will  away  to  mine  own 
palace  and  the  heavenly  lake — Irene  !  " 

While  thus  benighted,  and  thus  exclaiming,  two  females  sud- 
denly   emerged    from    a    neighboring    house,   niasked    and 


262  RIENZI, 

"Vain  wisdom  !"  said  the  taller  and  slighter  of  the  two^ 
whose  mantle,  it  is  here  necessary  to  observe,  was  of  a  deep 
blue,  richly  broidered  with  silver,  of  a  shape  and  a  color  not 
common  in  Florence,  but  usual  in  Rome,  where  the  dress  of 
ladies  of  the  higher  rank  was  singularly  bright  in  hue  and 
ample  in  fold — thus  differing  from  the  sinifjler  and  more  slen- 
der draperies  of  the  Tuscan  fashion — "  Vain  wisdom  to  fly  a 
relentless  and  certain  doom  !  " 

"  Why,  thou  wouldst  not  have  us  hold  the  same  home  with 
three  of  the  dead  in  the  next  chamber — strangers  too  to  us — 
when  Florence  has  so  many  empty  halls  ?  Trust  me,  we  shall 
not  walk  far  ere  we  suit  ourselves  with  a  safer  lodgment." 

*'  Hitherto,  indeed,  we  have  been  miraculously  preserved," 
sighed  the  other,  whose  voice  and  shape  were  those  of  extreme 
youth;  *' yet  would  that  we  knew  where  to  fly — what  mount, 
what  wood,  what  cavern,  held  my  brother  and  his  faithful 
Nina  !     I  am  sick  with  horrors  !  " 

*' Irene,  Irene!  Well  then,  if  thou  art  at  Milan  or  some 
Lombard  town,  why  do  I  linger  here  ?  To  horse,  to  horse  ! 
Oh,  no !  no !  not  the  horse  with  the  bells  !  not  the  death- 
cart."  With  a  cry,  a  s-hriek,  louder  than  the  loudest  of  the 
sick  man's,  broke  that  young  female  away  from  her  compan- 
ion. It  seemed  as  if  a  single  step  took  her  to  the  side  of 
Adrian.  She  caught  his  arm  ;  she  looked  in  his  face  ;  she  met 
his  unconscious  eyes  bright  with  a  fearful  fire.  "It  has  seized 
him!" — (she  then  said  in  a  deep  but  calm  tone) — "the  Plague!" 

"Away,  away!  are  you  mad?"  cried  her  companion; 
"hence,  hence, — touch  me  not  now  thou  hast  touched  him — 
go  ! — here  we  part !  " 

"Help  me  to  bear  him  somewhere  ;  see,  he  faints,  he  droops, 
he  falls  !  help  me,  dear  signora,  for  pity,  for  the  love  of  God  !  " 

But,  wholly  possessed  by  the  selfish  fear  which  overcame  all 
humanity  in  that  miserable  time,  the  elder  woman,  though 
naturally  kind,  pitiful,  and  benevolent,  fled  rapidly  away,  and 
soon  vanished.  Thus  left  alone  with  Adrian,  who  had  now, 
in  the  fierceness  of  the  fever  that  preyed  within  him,  fallen  on 
the  ground,  the  strength  and  nerve  of  that  young  girl  did  not 
forsake  her.  She  tore  off  the  heavy  mantle  which  encumbered 
her  arms,  and  cast  it  from  her  ;  and  then,  lifting  up  the  face 
of  her  lover — for  who  but  Irene  was  that  weak  woman,  thus 
shrinking  not  from  the  contagion  of  death  ? — she  supported 
him  on  her  breast,  and  called  aloud  and  again  for  help.  At 
length  the  Becchini  in  the  booth  before  noticed  (hardened  in 
|heir  protcbsion,  and  who,  thus  hardened,  belter  than  the  most 


THE   LAST   OF   TH£   TRIBUNES.  283 

cautious,  escaped  the  pestilence),  lazily  approached — "Quick« 
er,  quicker,  for  Christ's  love  !  "  said  Irene.  "  I  have  much 
gold  ;  I  will  reward  you  well  ;  help  me  to  bear  him  under  the 
nearest  roof." 

"Leave  him  to  us,  young  lady  ;  we  have  had  our  eye  upon 
him,"  said  one  of  the  grave-diggers.  "We'll  do  our  duty  by 
him,  first  and  last." 

"  No — no  !  touch  not  his  head — that  is  my  care.  There,  I 
will  help  you  ;  so, — now  then, — but  be  gentle  !  " 

Assisted  by  these  portentous  officers,  Irene,  who  would  not 
release  her  hold,  but  seemed  to  watch  over  the  beloved  eyes 
and  lips  (set  and  closed  as  they  were),  as  if  to  look  back  the 
soul  from  parting,  bore  Adrian  into  a  neighboring  house,  and 
laid  him  on  a  bed  ;  from  which  Irene  (preserving  as  only 
women  do,  in  such  times,  the  presence  of  mind  and  vigilant 
providence  which  make  so  sublime  a  contrast  with  their  keen 
susceptibilities)  caused  them  first  to  cast  off  the  draperies  and 
clothing,  which  might  retain  additional  infection.  She  then 
despatched  them  for  new  furniture,  and  for  whatsoever  leech 
money  might  yet  bribe  to  a  duty,  now  chiefly  abandoned  to 
those  heroic  Brotherhoods  who,  however  vilified  in  modern 
judgment  by  the  crimes  of  some  unworthy  members,  were  yet, 
in  the  dark  times,  the  best,  the  bravest,  and  the  holiest  agents 
to  whom  God  ever  delegated  the  power  to  resist  the  oppressor, 
to  feed  the  hungry,  to  minister  to  woe  ;  and  who  alone,  amidst 
that  fiery  pestilence  (loosed,  as  it  were,  a  demon  from  the 
abyss,  to  shiver  into  atoms  all  that  binds  the  world  to  Virtue 
and  to  Law  ),  seemed  to  awaken,  as  by  the  sound  of  an  angel's 
trumpet,  to  that  noblest  Chivalry  of  the  Cross,  whose  faith  is 
the  scorn  of  self,  whose  hope  is  beyond  the  Lazar-house,  whose 
feet,  already  winged  for  immortality,  trample,  with  a  con- 
queror's march,  upon  the  graves  of  Death  ! 

While  this  the  ministry  and  the  office  of  love, — along  that 
street  in  which  Adrian  and  Irene  had  met  at  last,  came  sing- 
ing, reeling,  roaring,  the  dissolute  and  abandoned  crew  who 
had  fixed  their  quarters  in  the  Convent  of  Santa  Maria  de' 
Pazzi,  their  bravo  chief  at  their  head,  and  a  nun  (no  longer  in 
nun's  garments)  upon  either  arm.  "  A  health  to  the  Plague  !  " 
shouted  the  ruffian  :  "  A  health  to  the  Plague  !  "  echoed  hia 
frantic  Bacchanals. 

"  A  health  to  the  Plague,  may  she  ever,  as  now, 
Loose  the  rogue  from  his  chain,  and  the  nun  from  ner  VOW  J 
To  the  gaoler  a  sword — to  the  captive  a  key, 
Hurrah  for  Earth's  Curse  !  'trs  a  blessing  to  me," 


i84  RIEN^T, 

** Holla!"  cried  the  chief,  stopping;  "hei^^  Margherita; 
**  here's  a  brave  cloak  for  thee,  my  girl  ,  silver  enow  on  it  to  fill 
thy  purse,  if  it  ever  grow  empty  ;  which  it  may,  if  ever  the 
Plague  grow  slack." 

''  Nay,"  said  the  girl,  who,  amidst  all  the  havoc  of  debauch, 
retained  much  of  youth  and  beauty  in  her  form  and  face  ;  "  nay, 
Guidotto  ;  perhaps  it  has  infection." 

"  Pooh,  child,  silver  never  infects.  Clap  it  on,  clap  it  on. 
Besides,  fate  is  fate,  and  when  it  is  thine  hour  there  will  be 
other  means  besides  i\\Q  gavocciolo.'' 

So  saying,  he  seized  the  mantle,  threw  it  roughly  over  her 
shoulders,  and  dragged  her  on  as  before,  half  pleased  with  the 
finery,  half  frightened  with  the  danger;  while  gradually  died 
away,  along  the  lurid  air  and  the  mournful  streets,  the  chant  Oi 
that  most  miserable  mirth. 


CHAPTER  Vo 

THE  ERROR. 

For  three  days,  the  fatal  three  days,  did  Adrian  remain  bereft 
of  strength  and  sense.  But  he  was  not  smitten  by  the  scourge 
which  his  devoted  and  generous  nurse  had  anticipated.  It  was 
a  fierce  and  dangerous  fever,  brought  on  by  the  great  fatigue, 
restlessness,  and  terrible  agitation  he  had  undergone. 

No  professional  mediciner  could  be  found  to  attend  him  ; 
but  a  good  friar,  better  perhaps  skilled  in  the  healing  art  than 
many  who  claimed  its  monopoly,  visited  him  daily.  And  in 
the  long  and  frequent  absences  to  which  his  other  and  numerous 
duties  compelled  the  monk,  there  was  one  ever  at  hand  to 
smooth  the  pillow,  to  wipe  the  brow,  to  listen  to  the  moan,  to 
watch  the  sleep.  And  even  in  that  dismal  office,  when,  in  the 
frenzy  of  the  sufferer,  her  name,  coupled  with  terms  of  pas- 
sionate endearment,  broke  from  his  lips,  a  thrill  of  strange  plea- 
sure crossed  the  heart  of  the  betrothed,  which  she  chid  as  if 
it  were  a  crime.  But  even  the  most  unearthly  love  is  selfish  in 
the  rapture  of  being  loved  !  Words  cannot  tell,  heart  cannot 
divine,  the  mingled  emotions  that  broke  over  her  when,  in  some 
of  these  incoherent  ravings,  she  dimly  understood  that/^r  her 
the  city  had  been  sought,  the  death  dared,  the  danger  incurred. 
And  as  then  bending  passionately  to  kiss  that  burning  brow, 
her  tears  fell  fast  over  the  idol  of  her  youth,  the  fountains  from 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  285 

which  they  gushed  were  those,  fathomless  and  countless,  which 
a  life  could  not  weep  away.  Not  an  impulse  of  the  human  and 
the  woman  heart  that  was  not  stirred  ;  the  adoring  gratitude, 
the  meek  wonder  thus  to  be  loved,  while  deeming  it  so  simple 
a  merit  thus  to  love  ;  as  if  all  sacrifice  in  her  were  a  thing  of 
course,  to  her  a  virtue  nature  could  not  paragon,  worlds  could 
not  repay  !  And  there  he  lay,  the  victim  to  his  own  fearless 
faith,  helpless,  dependent  upon  her — a  thing  between  life  and 
death,  to  thank,  to  serve,  to  be  proud  of,  yet  protect,  to  com- 
passionate, yet  revere — the  saver,  to  be  saved  !  Never  seemed 
one  object  to  demand  at  once  from  a  single  heart  so  many  and 
so  profound  emotions  ;  the  romantic  enthusiasm  of  the  girl, 
the  fond  idolatry  of  the  bride,  the  watchful  providence  of  the 
mother  over  her  child. 

And  strange  to  say,  with  all  the  excitement  of  that  lonely 
watch,  scarcely  stirring  from  his  side,  taking  food  only  that  her 
strength  might  not  fail  her,  unable  to  close  her  eyes, — though, 
from  the  same  cause,  she  would  fain  have  taken  rest,  when 
slumber  fell  upon  her  charge — with  all  such  wear  and  tear  of 
frame  and  heart,  she  seemed  wonderfully  supported.  And  the 
holy  man  marvelled,  in  each  visit,  to  see  the  cheek  of  the  nurse 
still  fresh  and  her  eye  still  bright.  In  her  own  superstition 
she  thought  and  felt  that  Heaven  gifted  her  with  a  preter- 
natural power  to  be  true  to  so  sacred  a  charge  ;  and  in  this 
fancy  she  did  not  wholly  err,  for  Heaven  did  gxii  her  with  that 
diviner  power,  when  it  planted  in  so  soft  a  heart  the  enduring 
might  and  energy  of  Affection  !  The  friar  had  visited  the  sick 
man  late  on  the  third  night,  and  administered  to  him  a  strong 
sedative.  "This  night,"  said  he  to  Irene,  'Svill  be  the  crisis: 
should  he  awaken,  as  I  trust  he  may,  with  a  returning  con- 
sciousness, and  a  calm  pulse,  he  will  live  ;  if  not,  young  daugh- 
ter, prepare  for  the  worst.  But  should  you  note  any  turn  in 
the  disease  that  may  excite  alarm,  or  require  my  attendance, 
this  scroll  will  inform  you  where  I  am,  if  God  spare  me  still,  at 
eacli  hour  of  the  night  and  morning." 

The  monk  retired,  and  Irene  resumed  her  watch. 

The  sleep  of  Adrian  was  at  first  broken  and  interrupted  ; 
his  features,  his  exclamations,  his  gestures,  all  evinced  great 
agony,  whether  mental  or  bodily  :  it  seemed,  as  perhaps  it  was, 
a  fierce  and  doubtful  struggle  between  life  and  death  for  the 
conquest  of  the  sleeper.  Patient,  silent,  breathing  but  by  long- 
drawtl  gasps,  Irene  sate  at  the  bed-head.  The  lamp  was  re- 
moved to  the  further  end  of  the  chamber,  and  its  ray,  shaded 
by  lh«  dfa|)eric8|  did  n^l  tuii&GC  to  give  to  her  gaze  more  thaa 


286  RIENZI, 

the  outline  of  the  countenance  she  watched.  In  that  awful 
suspense  all  the  thoughts  that  hitherto  had  stirred  her  mind 
lay  hushed  and  mute.  She  was  only  sensible  to  that  unutter- 
able fear  which  few  of  us  have  been  happy  enough  not  to  know. 
That  crushing  weight  under  which  we  can  scarcely  breathe  or 
move,  the  avalanche  over  us,  freezing  and  suspended,  which 
we  cannot  escape  from,  beneath  which,  every  moment,  we  may 
be  buried  and  overwhelmed.  The  whole  destiny  of  life  was  in 
the  chances  of  that  single  night !  It  was  just  as  Adrian  at 
last  seemed  to  glide  into  a  deeper  and  serener  slumber  that  the 
bells  of  the  death-cart  broke  with  their  boding  knell  the  pal- 
pable silence  of  the  streets.  Now  hushed,  now  revived,  as  the 
cart  stopped  for  its  gloomy  passengers,  and  coming  nearer  and 
nearer  after  every  pause.  At  length  she  heard  the  heavy 
wheels  stop  under  the  very  casement,  and  a  voice  deep  and 
muffled  calling  aloud,  *'  Bring  out  the  dead  !  "  She  rose,  and 
with  a  noiseless  step  passed  to  secure  the  door,  when  the  dull 
lamp  gleamed  upon  the  dark  and  shrouded  forms  of  the 
Be<^.chini. 

*' You  have  not  marked  the  door,  nor  set  out  the  body,"  said, 
one  gruffly  ;  *'but  this  is  the  third  night !     He  is  ready  for  us." 

"  Hush,  he  sleeps — away,  quick,  it  is  not  the  Plague  that 
seized  him." 

''Not  the  Plague? "growled  the  Becchino  in  a  disappointed 
tone  ;  "I  thought  no  other  illness  dared  encroach  upon  the 
rights  of  the  gavocciolo  !  " 

"  Go — here's  money  ;  leave  us." 

And  the  grisly  carrier  sullenly  withdrew.  The  cart  moved 
on,  the  bell  renewed  its  summons,  till  slowly  and  faintly  the 
dreadful  larum  died  in  the  distance. 

Shading  the  lamp  with  her  hand  Irene  stole  to  the  bedside, 
fearful  that  the  sound  and  the  intrusion  had  disturbed  the 
slumberer.  But  his  face  was  still  locked,  as  in  a  vise,  with 
that  iron  sleep.  He  stirred  not ;  the  breath  scarcely  passed 
his  lips;  she  felt  his  pulse,  as  the  wan  hand  lay  on  the  cover- 
lid— there  was  a  slight  beat ;  she  was  contented,  removed  the 
light,  and,  retiring  to  a  corner  of  the  room,  placed  the  little 
cross  suspended  round  her  neck  upon  the  table,  and  prayed, 
in  her  intense  suffering,  to  Him  who  had  known  death,  and 
who — Son  of  Heaven  though  he  was,  and  Sovereign  of  the 
Seraphim— had  also  prayed,  in  his  earthly  travail,  that  the  cup 
might  pass  away. 

The  morning  broke,  not,  as  in  the  North,  slowly  and  through 
(riMk^ewi  but  wi(h  ihf  guddcn  jf(lory  with  which  in  those  di* 


tHE  LAST   OP   THE   TRIBUNES.  287 

mates  day  leaps  upon  earth — like  a  giant  from  his  sleep.  A 
sudden  smile — a  burnished  glow — and  niglit  had  vanished. 
Adrian  still  slept ;  not  a  muscle  seemed  to  have  stirred ;  the 
sleep  was  even  heavier  than  before ;  the  silence  became  a  bur- 
then upon  the  air.  Now,  in  that  exceeding  torpor  so  like  unto 
death,  the  solitary  watcher  became  alarmed  and  terrified. 
Time  passed — morning  glided  to  noon — still  not  a  sound  nor 
motion.  The  sun  was  midway  in  heaven  ;  the  Friar  came 
not.  And  now  again  touching  Adrian's  pulse,  she  felt  no 
flutter;  she  gazed  on  him,  appalled  and  confounded  ;  surely 
nought  living  could  be  so  still  and  pale.  "Was  it  indeed 
sleep,  might  it  not  be — "  She  turned  away,  sick  and  frozen  ; 
her  tongue  clove  to  her  lips.  Why  did  the  father  tarry  ? — she 
would  go  to  him — she  would  learn  the  worst — she  could  for- 
bear no  longer.  She  glanced  over  the  scroll  the  monk  had  left 
her:  "From  sunrise,"  it  said,  "I  shall  beat  the  Convent  of 
the  Dominicans.  Death  has  stricken  many  of  the  brethren." 
The  convent  was  at  some  distance,  but  she  knew  the  spot,  and 
fear  would  wing  her  steps.  She  gave  one  wistful  look  at  the 
sleeper  and  rushed  from  the  house.  *' I  shall  see  thee  again 
presently,"  she  murmured.  Alas !  what  hope  can  calculate 
beyond  the  moment  ?  And  who  shall  claim  the  tenure  of 
'The  Again  2 

It  was  not  many  minutes  after  Irene  had  left  the  room,  ere, 
with  a  long  sigh,  Adrian  opened  his  eyes — an  altered  and 
another  man  ;  the  fever  was  gone,  the  reviving  pulse  beat  low 
indeed,  but  calm.  His  mind  was  once  more  master  of  his 
body,  and,  though  weak  and  feeble,  the  danger  was  past,  and 
life  and  intellect  regained. 

"I  have  slept  long,"  he  muttered,  "and  oh,  such  dreams! 
And  methought  I  saw  Irene,  but  could  not  speak  to  her,  and 
while  I  attempted  to  grasp  her,  her  face  changed,  her  form 
dilated,  and  I  was  in  the  clutch  of  the  foul  grave-digger.  It 
is  late  ;  the  sun  is  high  ;  I  must  be  up  and  stirring.  Irene  is 
in  Lombardy.  No,  no  ;  that  was  a  lie,  a  wicked  lie  ;  she  is  at 
Florence — I  must  renew  my  search." 

As  this  duty  came  to  his  remembrance,  he  rose  from  the 
bed  ;  he  was  amazed  at  his  own  debility :  at  first  he  could  not 
stand  without  support  from  the  wall ;  by  degrees,  however,  he 
so  far  regained  the  mastery  of  his  limbs  as  to  walk,  though 
with  effort  and  pain.  A  ravening  hunger  preyed  upon  him; 
he  found  some  scanty  and  light  food  in  the  chamber  which  he 
devoured  eagerly  ;  and  with  scarce  less  eagerness  laved  hi? 
enfeebled  form  and  haggard  face  with  the  water  that  stood  at 


288  RIENZI, 

hand.  He  now  felt  refreshed  and  invigorated,  and  began  to 
indue  his  garments,  which  he  found  thrown  on  a  heap  beside 
the  bed.  He  gazed  with  surprise  and  a  kind  of  self-com})as- 
sion  on  his  emaciated  hands  and  shrunken  limbs,  and  btgan 
now  to  comprehend  that  he  must  have  had  some  severe  but 
unconscious  illness.  *' Alone,  too,"  thought  he;  "no  one  near 
to  tend  me  !  Nature  my  only  nurse  !  But  alas  1  alas  !  how 
long  a  time  may  thus  have  been  wasted,  and  my  adored  Irene — ■ 
quick,  quick,  not  a  moment  more  will  I  lose." 

He  soon  found  himself  in  the  open  street ;  the  air  revived 
him ;  and  that  morning  had  sprung  up  the  blessed  breeze,  the 
first  known  for  weeks.  He  wandered  on  very  slowly  and 
feebly  till  he  came  to  a  broad  square,  from  which,  in  the  vista, 
might  be  seen  one  of  the  principal  gates  of  Florence,  and  the 
iig-trees  and  olive-groves  beyond.  It  was  then  that  a  pilgrim 
of  tall  stature  approached  towards  him  as  from  the  gate  ;  his 
hood  was  thrown  back,  and  gave  to  view  a  countenance  of 
great  but  sad  command ;  a  face,  in  whose  high  features, 
massive  brow,  and  proud,  unshrinking  gaze,  shaded  by  an 
expression  of  melancholy  more  stern  than  soft.  Nature  seemed 
to  have  written  majesty,  and  Fate  disaster.  As  in  that  silent 
and  dreary  place,  these  two,  the  only  tenants  of  the  street, 
now  encountered,  Adrian  stopped  abruptly,  and  said  in  a  start- 
led and  doubting  voice :  **  Do  I  dream  still,  or  do  I  behold 
Rienzi?" 

The  pilgrim  paused  also,  as  he  heard  the  name,  and  gazing 
long  on  the  attenuated  features  of  the  young  lord,  said 
"I  am  he  that  was  Rienzi !  and  you,  pale  shadow,  is  it  in  this 
grave  of  Italy  that  I  meet  with  the  gay  and  highColonna? 
Alas,  young  friend,"  he  added,  in  a  more  relaxed  and  kindly 
voice,  "hath  the  Plague  not  spared  the  flower  of  the  Roman 
nobles?  Come,  I,  the  cruel  and  the  harsh  Tribune,  /  will  be 
thy  nurse  :  he  who  might  have  been  my  brother,  shall  yet  claim 
from  me  a  brother's  care." 

With  these  words  he  wound  his  arm  tenderly  round  Adrian  ; 
and  the  young  noble,  touched  by  his  compassion,  and  agitated 
by  the  surprise,  leaned  upon  Rienzi's  breast  in  silence. 

"Poor  youth,"  resumed  the  Tribune,  for  so,  since  rather 
fallen  than  deposed,  he  may  yet  be  called ;  "  I  ever  loved  the 
young  (my  brother  died  young)  ;  and  you  more  than  most. 
What  fatality  brought  thee  hither?" 

"Irene  !"  replied  Adrian  falteringly. 

"Is  it  so,  really?  Art  thou  a  Colonna,  and  yet  prize  the 
fallen  ?    The  same  duty  has  brought  me  also  to  the  city  oi 


THE    LAST    OP    THE    TRIBUNES.  fiSj^ 

Death.  From  the  furthest  south — over  the  mountains  of  the 
robber — through  the  fastnesses  of  my  foes — through  towns  in 
which  the  herald  proclaimed  in  my  car  the  price  of  my  head — 
I  have  passed  hither,  on  foot  and  alone,  safe  under  the  wings 
of  the  Almighty  One.  Young  man,  thou  shouldst  have  left 
this  task  to  one  who  bears  a  wizard's  life,  and  whom  Heaven 
and  Earth  yet  reserve  for  an  appointed  end  I" 

The  Tribune  said  this  in  a  deep  and  inward  voice ;  and  in 
his  raised  eye  and  solemn  brow  might  be  seen  how  much  his 
reverses  had  deepened  his  fanaticism,  and  added  even  to  the 
sanguineness  of  his  hopes. 

"  But,"  asked  Adrian,  withdrawing  gently  from  Rienzi's  arm, 
"thou  knowest,  then,  where  Irene  is  to  be  found;  let  us  go 
together.  Lose  not  a  moment  in  this  talk ;  time  is  of  inesti- 
mable value,  and  a  moment  in  this  city  is  often  but  the  border 
to  eternity." 

"Right,"  said  Rienzi,  awakening  to  his  object.  "But  fear 
not.  I  /lave  dreafnt  that  I  shall  save  her,  the  gem  and  darling 
of  my  house.     Fear  not,  /have  no  fean" 

"Know  you  where  to  Fiiek  ?"  said  Adrian  impatiently;  **the 
convent  holds  far  other  guests." 

"  Ha  !  so  said  my  dream  !  " 

"Talk  not  now  of  dreams,"  said  the  lover;  "but  if  you  have 
no  other  guide,  let  us  part  at  once  in  quest  of  her.  I  will  take 
yonder  street,  you  take  the  opposite,  and  at  sunset  let  us  meet 
in  the  same  spot." 

"  Rash  man  !  *  said  the  Tribune,  with  great  solemnity  ;  "  scoff 
not  at  the  visions  which  Heaven  makes  a  parable  to  its  Chosen. 
Thou  seekest  counsel  of  thy  human  wisdom  ;  I,  less  presump- 
tuous, follow  the  hand  of  the  mysterious  Providence,  moving 
even  now  before  my  gaze  as  a  pillar  of  light  through  the  wilder- 
ness of  dread.  Ay,  meet  we  here  at  sunset,  and  prove  whose 
guide  is  the  most  unerring.  If  my  dream  tell  me  true,  I  shall 
see  my  sister  living,  ere  the  sun  reach  yonder  hill,  and  by  a 
church  dedicated  to  St.  Mark." 

The  grave  earnestness  with  which  Rienzi  spoke  impressed 
Adrian  with  a  hope  which  his  reason  would  not  acknowledge. 
He  saw  him  depart  with  that  proud  and  stately  step  to  v/hich 
his  sweeping  garments  gave  a  yet  more  imposing  dignity,  and 
then  passed  up  the  street  to  the  right  hand.  He  had  not  got 
half  way  when  he  felt  himself  pulled  by  the  mantle.  He  turned, 
and  saw  the  shapeless  mask  of  a  Becchino. 

"  I  feared  you  were  sped,  and  that  another  had  cheated  me 
of  my  office^ "  said  the  gravc-diggei,  "  seeing  that  you  returned 


29©  .  kiENzi, 

not  to  the  old  iPrince's  palace.  You  don't  know  me  froitl 
the  rest  of  us,  I  see,  but  I  am  the  one  you  told  to  seek — " 

" Irene  !  " 

"Yes;  Irene  di  Gabrini ;  you  promised  ample  reward." 

"  You  shall  have  it." 

"  Follow  me." 

The  Becchino  strode  on,  and  soon  arrived  at  a  mansion.  He 
knocked  twice  at  the  porter's  entrance  ;  an  old  woman  cau- 
tiously opened  the  door.  "  Fear  not,  good  aunt,"  said  the  grave, 
digger  ;  "  this  is  the  young  lord  I  spoke  to  thee  of.  Thou  say- 
est  thou  hast  two  ladies  in  the  palace  who  alone  survived  of  all 
the  lodgers,  and  their  names  were  Bianca  de  Medici,  and — • 
what  was  the  other  ?  " 

"  Irene  di  Gabrini,  a  Roman  lady.  But  I  told  thee  this  was 
the  fourth  day  they  left  the  house,  terrified  by  the  deaths 
within  it." 

"Thou  didst  so  ;  and  was  there  anything  remarkable  in  the 
dress  of  the  Signora  di  Gabrini  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  told  thee  ;  a  blue  mantle,  such  as  I  have  rarely 
seen,  wrought  with  silver." 

"Was  the  broidery  that  of  stars — silver  stars,"  exclaimed 
Adrian,  "  with  a  sun  in  the  centre  ?" 

"It  was." 

"  Alas  !  alas  !  the  arms  of  the  Tribune's  family  !  I  remember 
how  I  praised  the  mantle  the  first  day  she  wore  it — the  day  on 
which  we  were  betrothed  !  "  And  the  lover  at  once  conjectured 
the  secret  sentiment  which  had  induced  Irene  to  retain  thus 
carefully  a  robe  so  endeared  by  association. 

"  You  know  no  more  of  your  lodgers  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  And  is  this  all  you  have  learned,  knave  ?"  cried  Adrian. 

"  Patience.  I  must  bring  you  from  proof  to  proof,  and  link 
to  link,  in  order  to  win  my  reward.     Follow,  signor." 

The  Becchino  then,  passing  through  the  several  lanes  and 
streets,  arrived  at  another  house  of  less  magnificent  size  and 
architecture.  Again  he  tapped  thrice  at  the  parlor  door,  and 
this  time  came  for:h  a  man  withered,  old,  and  palsied,  wliOm 
death  seemed  to  disdain  to  strike. 

"Signor  Astuccio,"  said  the  Becchino,  "pardon  me;  but  I 
told  thee  I  might  trouble  thee  again.  This  is  the  gentleman 
who  wants  to  know,  what  is  often  best  unknown — but  that's 
not  my  affair.  Did  a  lady,  young  and  beautiful,  with  dark 
hair,  and  of  a  slender  form,  enter  this  house,  stricken  with  the 
first  symptom  of  the  Plague,  three  days  since  ?  " 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  2gi 

^' Ay,  thou  knowest  that  well  enough  ;  and  thou  knowest  still 
better,  that  she  has  departed  these  two  days  j  it  was  quick  work 
with  her,  quicker  than  with  most." 

'  Did  she  wear  anything  remarkable?" 

*  Yes,  troublesome  man  ;  a  bhie  cloak,  with  stars  of  silrer." 

''Couldst  thou  guess  ought  of  her  previous  circumstances  ?" 

"No,  save  that  she  raved  much  about  the  nunnery  of  Santa 
Maria  de'  Pazzi,  and  bravos,  and  sacrilege." 

"  Are  you  satisfied,  signor  ?  "  asked  the  grave-digger,  with  an 
air  of  triumph,  turning  to  Adrian.  "But  no,  I  will  satisfy  thee 
better,  if  thou  hast  courage.     Wilt  thou  follow  ?  " 

"  I  comprehend  thee  ;  lead  on.  Courage  !  What  is  there  on 
earth  now  to  fear  ?  " 

Muttering  to  himself,  "  Ay,  leave  me  alone.  I  have  a  head 
worth  something  ;  I  ask  no  gentleman  to  go  by  my  word  ;  I 
will  make  his  own  eyes  the  judge  of  what  my  trouble  is  worth," 
the  grave-digger  now  led  the  way  through  one  of  the  gates  a 
little  out  of  the  city.  And  here,  under  a  shed,  sat  six  of  his 
ghastly  and  ill*omened  brethren,  with  spades  and  pick-axes  at 
their  feet. 

His  guide  now  turned  round  to  Adrian,  whose  face  was  set, 
and  resolute  in  despair. 

"  Fair  signor,"  said  he,  with  some  touch  of  lingering  com- 
passion, "  wouldst  thou  really  convince  tliine  own  eyes  and 
heart  ?  The  sight  may  appal,  the  contagion  may  destroy, 
thee — if,  indeed,  as  it  seems  to  me,  Death  has  not  already  writ- 
ten ^mine'  upon  thee." 

"  Raven  of  bode  and  woe  !  "  answered  Adrian,  "  seest  thou 
not  that  all  I  shrink  from  is  thy  voice  and  aspect  ?  Show  me 
her  I  seek,  living  oi  dead." 

'  I  will  show  her  to  you  then,"  said  the  Becchino  sullenly^ 
such  as  two  nights  since  she  was  committed  to  my  charge. 
Line  and  lineament  may  already  be  swept  away,  for  the  Plague 
hath  a  rapid  besom  ;  but  I  have  left  that  upon  her  by  which 
you  will  know  the  Becchino  is  no  liar.  Bring  hither  the  torches, 
comrades,  and  lift  the  door.  Never  stare  ;  it's  the  gentleman's 
whim,  and  he'll  pay  it  well." 

Turning  to  the  right,  while  Adrian  mechanically  followed  his 
conductors,  a  spectacle  whose  dire  philosophy  crushes  as  with 
a  wheel  all  the  pride  of  mortal  man — the  spectacle  of  that  vault 
in  which  earth  hides  all  that  on  earth  flourished,  rejoiced,  ex- 
ulted—awaited his  eye  ! 

The  Becchini  lifted  a  pondemu?^  grate,  lowered  their  torches 
(learcely  neededf  f©x  through  the  aperture  rushed,  with  hideous 


292  RIENZI, 

glare,  the  light  of  the  burning  sun),  and  motioned  to  Adrian  to 
advance.  He  stood  upon  the  summit  of  the  abyss  and  gazed 
below. 

******  dt: 

It  was  a  large,  deep,  and  circular  space,  like  the  bottom  of  aii 
exhausted  well.  In  niches  cut  into  the  walls  of  earth  arouna 
lay,  duly  coffined,  those  who  had  been  the  earliest  victims  ot 
the  plague,  when  the  Becchino's  market  was  not  yet  glutted, 
and  priest  followed,  and  friend  mourned  the  dead.  But  on  the 
floor  below,  t/iere  was  the  loathsome  horror  !  Huddled  and 
matted  together — some  naked,  some  in  shrouds  already  black 
and  rotten — lay  the  later  guests,  the  unshriven  and  unblest  ! 
The  torches,  the  sun,  streamed  broad  and  red  over  Corruption 
in  all  its  stages,  from  the  pale  blue  tint  and  swollen  shape,  to 
the  moistened,  undistinguishable  mass,  or  the  riddled  bones, 
where  yet  clung,  in  strips  and  tatters,  the  black  and  mangled 
flesh.  In  many,  the  face  remained  almost  perfect,  while  the  rest 
of  the  body  was  but  bone  ;  the  long  hair  the  human  face,  sur- 
mounting the  grisly  skeleton.  There  was  the  infant,  still  on  the 
mother's  breast  ;  there  was  the  lover,  stretched  across  the 
dainty  limbs  of  his  adored  !  The  rats  (for  they  clustered  in 
numbers  to  that  feast),  disturbed,  not  scared,  sate  up  from 
their  horrid  meal  as  the  light  glimmered  over  them,  and 
thousands  of  them  lay  round,  stark,  and  dead,  poisoned  by 
that  they  fed  on  !  There,  too,  the  wild  satire  of  the  grave- 
diggers  had  cast,  though  stripped  of  their  gold  and  jewels,  the 
emblems  that  spoke  of  departed  rank — the  broken  wand  of  the 
Councillor ;  the  General's  baton  ;  the  Priestly  Mitre  !  The 
foul  and  livid  exhalations  gathered  like  flesh  itself,  fungous  and 
putrid,  upon  the  walls,  and  the — * 

•1^  Tt  ^  ^  H*  V  T^ 

But  who  shall  detail  the  ineffable  and  unimaginable  horrors 
that  reigned  over  the  Palace  where  the  Great  King  received 
the  prisoners  whom  the  sword  of  the   pestilence  had  subdued  ? 

But  through  all  that  crowded  court — crowded  with  beauty 
and  with  birth,  with  the  strength  of  the  young  and  the  honors 
of  the  old,  and  the  valor  of  the  brave,  and  the  wisdom  of  the 
learned,  and  the  wit  of  the  scorner,  and  the  piety  of  the  faith- 
ful— one  only  figure  attracted  Adrian'  s  eye.  Apart  from  tne 
rest,  a  late  comer — the  long  locks  streaming  far  and  dark  ovar 
arm  and  breast — lay  a  female,  the  face  turned  partially  aside, 
the  little  seen  not  recognizable  even  by  the  mother  of  the  dead, 

*  The  description  in  th«  text  is  borrowed  (rom  the  famous  waxwtrk  timin\  {of  th«  ifip 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  293 

"but  wrapped  round  in  that  fatal  mantle,  on  which,  though 
blackened  and  tarnished,  was  yet  visible  the  starry  heraldry 
assumed  by  those  who  claimed  the  name  of  the  proud  Trib- 
une of  Rome.  Adrian  saw  no  more  ;  he  fell  back  in  the  arms 
of  the  grave-diggers  :  when  he  recovered,  he  was  still  without 
the  gates  of  Florence,  reclined  upon  a  green  mound  ;  his 
guide  stood  beside  him,  holding  his  steed  by  the  bridle  as  it 
grazed  patiently  on  the  neglected  grass.  The  other  brethren 
of  the  axe  had  resumed  their  seat  under  the  shed. 

"  So,  you  have  revived  !  Ah  !  I  thought  it  was  only  the 
effluvia  ;  few  stand  it  as  we  do.  And  so,  as  your  search  is 
over,  deeming  you  would  now  be  quitting  Florence  if  you 
have  any  sense  left  to  you,  I  went  for  your  good  horse.  I  have 
fed  him  since  your  departure  from  the  palace.  Indeed  I  fan- 
cied he  would  be  my  perquisite,  but  there  are  plenty  as  good. 
Come,  young  sir,  mount.  I  feel  a  pity  for  you,  I  know  not 
why,  except  that  you  are  the  only  one  I  have  met  for  weeks 
who  seem  to  care  for  another  more  than  yourself.  I  hope  you 
are  satisfied  now  that  I  showed  some  brains,  eh  !  in  your  ser- 
vice ;  and  as  I  kept  my  promise,  you'll  keep  yours." 

"  Friend,"  said  Adrian,  "  here  is  gold  enough  to  make  thee 
rich  ;  here,  too,  is  a  jewel  that  merchants  will  tell  thee  princes 
might  vie  to  purchase.  Thou  seemest  honest,  despite  thy 
calling,  or  thou  mightest  have  robbed  and  murdered  me  long 
since.     Do  me  one  favor  more." 

"  By  my  poor  mother's  soul,  yes." 

"  Take  yon — yon  clay  from  that  fearful  place.  Inter  it  in 
some  quiet  and  remote  spot — apart — alone  !  You  promise 
me  ?  You  swear  it  ?  It  is  well  !  And  now  help  me  on  my 
horse.  Farewell  Italy,  and  if  I  die  not  with  this  stroke,  may  I 
die  as  befits  at  once  honor  and  despair,  with  trumpet  and  ban- 
ker round  me,  in  a  well-fought  field  against  ^  worthy  foe  I 
isave  a  knightly  death,  nothing  is  left  to  live  for  I" 


294  RIENZT, 

BOOK  VII. 

THE    PRISON. 

"  Fu  r'Widtnuso  in  una  torre  grossa  e  larga  ;  avea  libri  assal,  suo  Tito 
Livio,  sue  storie  di  Roma,  la  Bibbia,"  etc. —  Vii.  di  Kienzi,  lib.  ii.,  c.  13. 

"  He  was  immured  in  a  high  and  spacious  tower  ;  he  had  books  enough, 
his  Titus  Livius,  his  histories  of  Rome,  the  Bible,"  etc. 


CHAPTER  I. 

AVIGNON. — THE   TWO    PAGES. — THE   STRANGER  BEAUTY. 

There  is  this  difference  between  the  drama  of  Shakspeare. 
and  that  of  almost  every  other  master  of  the  same  art  :  that,  in 
the  first,  the  catastrophe  is  rarely  produced  by  one  single 
cause — one  simple  and  continuous  chain  of  events.  Various 
and  complicated  agencies  work  out  the  final  end.  Unfettered 
by  the  rules  of  time  and  place,  each  time,  each  place  depicted, 
presents  us  with  its  appropriate  change  of  action,  or  of  actors. 
Sometimes  the  interest  seems  to  halt,  to  turn  aside,  to  bring 
us  unawares  upon  objects  hitherto  unnoticed,  or  upon  qualities 
of  the  characters  hitherto  hinted  at,  not  developed.  But  in 
reality  the  pause  in  the  action  is  but  to  collect,  to  gather  up, 
and  to  grasp,  all  the  varieties  of  circumstance  that  conduce  to 
the  Great  Result :  and  the  art  of  fiction  is  only  deserted  for 
the  fidelity  of  history.  Whoever  seeks  to  place  before  tha 
world  the  true  representation  of  a  man's  life  and  times,  and,  en- 
larging the  dramatic  into  the  epic,  extends  his  narrative  over 
the  vicissitudes  of  years,  will  find  himself  unconsciously,  in 
this,  the  imitator  of  Shakspeare.  New  characters,  each  con- 
ducive to  the  end  ;  new  scenes,  each  leading  to  the  last,  rise 
before  him  as  he  proceeds,  sometimes  seeming  to  the  reader  to 
delay,  even  while  they  advance,  the  dread  catastrophe.  The 
sacrificial  procession  sweeps  along,  swelled  by  new  comers, 
losing  many  that  first  joined  it  ;  before,  at  last,  the  same  as  a 
whole,  but  differing  in  its  components,  the  crowd  reach  the 
fated  bourn  of  the  Altar  and  the  Victim  ! 

It  is  five  years  after  the  date  of  the  events  I  have  recorded, 
and  my  story  conveys  us  to  the  Papal  Court  at  Avignon— that 
tranquil  seat  of  power,  to  which  the  successors  of  St.  Peter  had 


THE    LAST    Of    the    TRIBUNES.  295 

transplanted  the  luxury,  the  pomp,  and  the  vices,  0(  the  Im- 
'  perial  City.  Secure  from  tlie  fraud  or  violence  of  a  powerful 
and  barbarous  nobility,  the  courtiers  of  the  See  surrendered 
themselves  to  a  holiday  of  delight ;  their  repose  was  devoted 
to  enjoyment,  and  Avignon  presented,  at  that  day,  perhaps 
the  gayest  and  most  voluptuous  society  of  Europe.  The  ele- 
gance of  Clement  VI.  had  diffused  an  air  of  literary  refine- 
ment over  the  grosser  pleasures  of  the  place,  and  the  spirit  of 
Petrarch  still  continued  to  work  its  way  through  the  councils 
of  faction  and  the  orgies  of  debauch. 

Innocent  VI.  had  lately  succeeded  Clement,  and  whatever 
nis  own  claims  to  learning,*  he,  at  least,  appreciated  knowledge 
and  intellect  in  others  ;  so  that  the  graceful  pedantry  of  the 
time  continued  to  mix  itself  with  the  pursuit  of  pleasure.  The 
corruption  which  reigned  through  the  whole  place  was  too  con- 
firmed to  yield  to  the  example  of  Innocent,  himself  a  man  of 
simple  habits  and  exemplary  life.  Though,  like  his  prede- 
cessor, obedient  to  the  policy  of  France,  Innocent  possessed  a 
hard  and  an  extended  ambition.  Deeply  concerned  for  the 
interests  of  the  Church,  he  formed  the  project  of  confirming 
and  re-establishing  her  shaken  dominion  in  Italy  ;  and  he 
regarded  the  tyrants  of  the  various  States  as  the  principal 
obstacles  to  his  ecclesiastical  ambition.  Nor  was  this  the 
policy  of  Innocent  VI.  alone.  With  such  exceptions  as  peculiar 
circumstances  necessarily  occasioned,  the  Papal  See  was,  upon 
the  whole,  friendly  to  the  political  liberties  of  Italy.  The 
republics  of  the  Middle  Ages  grew  up  under  the  shadow  of 
the  Church  ;  and  there,  as  elsewhere,  it  was  found,  contrary  to 
a  vulgar  opinion,  that  Religion,  however  prostituted  and  per- 
verted, served  for  the  general  protection  of  civil  freedom, — 
raised  the  lowly,  and  resisted  the  oppressor. 

At  this  period  there  appeared  at  Avignon  a  lady  of  singular 
and  matchless  beauty.  She  had  come  with  a  slender  but  well 
appointed  retinue  from  Florence,  but  declared  herself  of 
Neapolitan  birth  ;  the  widow  of  a  noble  of  the  brilliant  court 
of  the  unfortunate  Jane.  Her  name  was  Cesarini.  Arrived  at 
a  place  where,  even  in  the  citadel  of  Christianity,  Venus 
retained  her  ancient  empire,  where  Love  made  the  prime  busi- 
ness of  life,  and  to  be  beautiful  was  to  be  of  power,  the  Signora 
Cesarini  had  scarcely  appeared  in  public  before  she  saw  at  her 
feet   half   the    rank  and  gallantry  of   Avignon.     Her  female 

*  Matteo  Villani  (lib.  iii.,  cap.  44)  says,  that  Innocent  VI.  had  not  much  pretension  to 
learning.  He  is  reported,  however,  by  other  authorities,  cited  by  Zefirino  Re,  to  havQ 
beep  "  eccelleni?  canooists.' '    H«  tad  been  a  professor  in  the  University  oi  Toulouse. 


296  RIENZI, 

attendants  were  beset  with  bribes  and  billets  ;  and  nightly, 
beneath  her  lattice,  was  heard  the  plaintive  serenade.  She 
entered  largely  into  the  gay  dissipation  of  the  town,  and  lier 
charms  shared  the  celebrity  of  the  hour  with  the  verse  of 
Petrarch.  But  though  she  frowned  on  none,  none  could  claim 
the  monopoly  of  her  smiles.  Her  fair  fame  was  as  yet  unblem- 
ished ;  but  if  any  might  presume  beyond  the  rest,  she  seemed 
to  have  selected  rather  from  ambition  than  love,  and  Giles,  the 
warlike  Cardinal  d'Albornoz,  all  powerful  at  the  sacred  court, 
already  foreboded  the  hour  of  his  triumph. 

It  was  late  noon,  and  in  the  ante-chamber  of  the  fair  signora 
waited  two  of  that  fraternity  of  pages,  fair  and  richly  clad, who,  at 
that  day,  furnished  the  favorite  attendants  to  rank  of  either  sex. 

"By  my  troth,"  cried  one  of  these  young  servitors,  pushing 
from  him  the  dice  with  which  himself  and  his  companion  had 
sought  to  beguile  their  leisure,  *'  this  is  but  dull  work  !  and  the 
best  part  of  the  day  is  gone.     Our  lady  is  late." 

"And  I  have  donned  my  new  velvet  mantle,"  replied  the 
other,  compassionately  eyeing  his  finery. 

"Chut,  Giacomo,"  said  his  comrade  yawning  ;  "a  truce  with 
thy  conceit.  What  news  abroad,  1  wonder  ?  Has  his  Holiness 
come  to  his  senses  yet?" 

"  His  senses  !  what,  is  he  mad  then  ? "  quoth  Giacomo,  in  a 
serious  and  astonished  whisper. 

"  I  think  he  is  ;  if,  being  Pope,  he  does  not  discover  that  he 
may  at  length  lay  aside  mask  and  hood.  *  Continent  cardinal — 
lewd  pope,'  is  the  old  motto,  you  know  ;  something  must  be 
the  matter  with  the  good  man's  brain  if  he  continue  to  live  like 
a  hermit." 

"  Oh,  I  have  you  !  but  faith,  his  Holiness  has  proxies  eno'. 
The  bishops  take  care  to  prevent  women,  Heaven  bless  them  '. 
going  out  of  fashion  ;  and  Albornoz  does  not  maintain  your 
proverb,  touching  the  cardinals." 

"  True,  but  Giles  is  a  warrior, — a  cardinal  in  the  church,  but 
a  soldier  in  the  city." 

"Will  he  carry  the  fort  here,  think  you,  Angelo  ?  " 

"  Why,  fort  is  female,  but—" 

"But  what?" 

"The  signora's  brow  is  made  for  power,  rather  than  love, 
fair  as  it  is.  She  sees  in  Albornoz  the  prince,  and  not  the  lover. 
With  what  a  step  she  sweeps  the  floor  !  it  disdains  even  the 
cloth  of  gold  !  " 

"  Hark  !  "  cried  Giacomo,  hastening  to  the  lattice,  "  hear  you 
the  hoofs  below  ?     Ah,  a  gallant  company  I" 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  297 

**  Returned  from  hawking,"  answered  Angelo,  regarding  wist- 
fully the  cavalcade,  as  it  swept  the  narrow  street.  "  Plumes 
waving,  steeds  curvetting  ;  see  how  yon  handsome  cavalier 
presses  close  to  that  dame  !  " 

"  His  mantle  is  the  color  of  mine,"  sighed  Giacomo. 

As  the  gay  procession  paced  slowly  on  till  hidden  by  the 
winding  street,  and  as  the  sound  of  laughter  and  the  tramp  of 
horses  was  yet  faintly  heard,  there  frowned  right  before  the 
straining  gaze  of  the  pages  a  dark  massive  tower  of  the  mighty 
masonry  of  the  eleventh  century  :  the  sun  gleamed  sadly  on  its 
vast  and  dismal  surface,  which  was  only  here  and  there  relieved 
by  loopholes  and  narrow  slits,  rather  than  casements.  It  was 
a  striking  contrast  to  the  gaiety  around,  the  glittering  shops, 
and  the  gaudy  train  that  had  just  filled  the  space  below.  This 
contrast  the  young  men  seemed  involuntarily  to  feel ;  they 
drew  back,  and  looked  at  each  other. 

"I  know  your  thoughts,  Giacomo,"  said  Angelo,  the  hand- 
somer and  elder  of  the  two.  "  You  think  yon  tower  affords 
but  a  gloomy  lodgment?" 

"And  I  thank  my  stars  that  made  me  not  high  enough  to 
require  so  grand  a  cage,"  rejoined  Giacomo. 

**  Yet,"  observed  Angelo,  "  it  holds  one  who  in  birth  was  not 
our  superior." 

"  Do  tell  me  something  of  that  strange  man,"  said  Giacomo, 
regaining  his  seat ;  "  you  are  Roman  and  should  know." 

"  Yes  ! "  answered  Angelo,  haughtily  drawing  himself  up. 
"  I  am  Roman  !  and  I  should  be  unworthy  my  birth,  if  I  had 
not  already  learned  what  honor  is  due  to  the  name  of  Cola  di 
Rienzi." 

"Yet  your  fellow-Romans  nearly  stoned  him,  I  fancy,"  mut- 
tered Giacomo.  "  Honor  seems  to  lie  more  in  kicks  than 
money.  Can  you  tell  me,"  continued  the  page  in  a  louder  key, 
"  can  you  tell  me  if  it  be  true  that  Rienzi  appeared  at  Prague 
before  the  Emperor,  and  prophesied  that  the  late  Pope  and  all 
the  cardinals  should  be  murdered,  and  a  new  Italian  pope 
elected,  who  should  endue  the  Emperor  with  a  golden  crown, 
as  Sovereign  of  Sicilia,  Calabria,  and  Apulia,  *  and  himself  with 
a  crown  of  silver  as  King  of  Rome,  and  all  Italy  ?     And — " 

"  Hush  !  "  interrupted  Angelo  impatiently.  "  Listen  to  me, 
and  you  shall  know  the  exact  story.  On  last  leaving  Rome  (thou 
knowest  that,  after  his  fall,  he  was  present  at  tlie  Jubilee  in 
disguise)  the  Tribune — "  here  Angelo,  pausing,  looked  round, 
and  then  with  a  flushed  cheek  and  raised  voice  resumed,  "Ye% 

^•'  An  absurd  table,  adopted  by  certain  historian^. 


298  RIENZI, 

the  Tribune^  that  was  and  shall  be,  travelled  in  disguise,  as  a 
pilgrim,  over  mountain  and  forest,  night  and  day,  exposed  to 
rain  and  storm,  no  shelter  but  the  cave, — he  who  had  been, 
they  say,  the  very  spoilt  one  of  Luxury.  Arrived  at  length  in 
Bohemia,  he  disclosed  himself  to  a  Florentine  in  Prague,  and 
through  his  aid  obtained  audience  of  the  Emperor  Charles," 

"A  prudent  man,  the  Emperor!"  said  Giacomo,  "close-fisted  as 
a  miser.  He  makes  conquests  by  bargain,  and  goes  to  market 
foi  laurels,  as  I  have  heard  my  brother  say,  who  was  under  him." 

"  True  ;  but  I  have  also  heard  that  he  likes  bookmen  and 
scholars ;  is  wise  and  temperate,  and  much  is  yet  hoped  from 
him  in  Italy !  Before  the  Emperor,  I  say,  came  Rienzi. 
*Kno\v,  great  Prince,'  said  he,  'that  I  am  that  Rienzi  to  whom 
God  gave  to  govern  Rome,  in  peace,  with  justice,  and  to  free- 
dom. I  curbed  the  nobles,  I  purged  corruption,  I  amended 
law.  The  powerful  persecuted  me ;  pride  and  envy  have 
chased  me  from  my  dominions.  Great  as  you  are,  fallen  as  I 
am,  I  too  have  wielded  the  sceptre  and  might  have  worn  a 
crown.  Know,  too,  that  I  am  illegitimately  of  your  lineage  ; 
my  father  the  son  of  Henry  VH.;  *  the  blood  of  the  Teuton 
rolls  in  my  veins  ;  mean  as  were  my  earlier  fortunes  and  hum- 
ble my  earlier  name  !  From  you,  O  King,  I  seek  protection, 
and  I  demand  justice."  \ 

"  A  bold  speech,  and  one  from  equal  to  equal,"  said  Gia- 
como ;  "  surely  you  swell  us  out  the  words." 

"  Not  a  whit  ;  they  were  written  down  by  the  Emperor's 
scribe,  and  every  Roman  who  has  once  heard  knows  them  by 
heart ;  once  every  Roman  was  the  equal  to  a  king,  and  Rienzi 
maintained  our  dignity  in  asserting  his  own." 

Giacomo,  who  discreetly  avoided  quarrels,  knew  the  weak 
side  of  his  friend  ;  and  though  in  his  heart  he  thought  the 
Romans  as  good-for-nothing  a  set  of  turbulent  dastards  as 
all  Italy  might  furnish,  he  merely  picked  a  straw  from  his 
mantle,  and  said,  in  rather  an  impatient  tone,  "  Humph !  pro- 
ceed !  did  the  Emperor  dismiss  him  ?" 

"Not  so  ;  Charles  was  struck  with  his  bearing  and  his  spirit, 
received  him  graciously,  and  entertained  him  hospitably.  He 
remained  some  time  at  Prague,  and  astonished  all  the  learned 
with  his  knowledge  and  eloquence."  J 

*  Uncle  to  the  Emperor  Charles. 

t  See,  for  this  speech,  "  the  Anonymou&  Biographer,'"  lib.  ii.,  cap.  12. 

X  His  Italian  contemporary  delights  in  representing  this  remarkable  man  as  another  Crich- 
ton.  "  Dispiitava."  he  says  of  him  when  at  Prague,  "  disputava  con  Mastri  di  teologia* 
molto  diceva,  parlava  cose  meravigliose  ....  abbair  fea  ogni  persona."—"  He  disputed 
with  Masters  of  theology  ;  he  spoke  much,  he  discoursed  things  wonderful ;  he  astonished 
fvcryone," 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  iS^g 

"But  if  SO  honored  at  Prague,  how  comes  he  a  prisoner  at 
Avignon  ? " 

*'Giacomo,"  said  Angelo  thoughtfully,  "there  are  some  men 
whom  we,  of  another  mind  and  mould,  can  rarely  comprehend, 
and  never  fathom.  And  of  such  men  I  have  observed  that  a 
supreme  confidence  in  their  own  fortunes  or  their  own  souls  is 
the  most  common  feature.  Thus  impressed,  and  thus  buoyed, 
they  rush  into  danger  with  a  seeming  madness,  and  from 
danger  soar  to  greatness,  or  sink  to  death.  So  with  Rienzi ; 
dissatisfied  with  empty  courtesies  and  weary  of  playing  the 
pedant,  since  once  he  had  played  the  prince ;  some  say  of  his 
own  accord  (though  others  relate  that  he  was  surrendered  to 
the  Pope's  legate  by  Charles),  he  left  the  Emperor's  court, 
and  without  arms,  without  money,  betook  himself  at  once  to 
Avignon  ! " 

"  Madness  indeed  !  '* 

"Yet,  perhaps  his  only  course,  under  all  circumstances,"  re- 
sumed the  elder  page.  "  Once  before  his  fall,  and  once  dur- 
ing his  absence  from  Rome,  he  had  been  excommunicated  by 
the  Pope's  legate.  He  was  accused  of  heresy — the  ban  was 
still  on  him.  It  was  necessary  that  he  should  clear  himself. 
How  was  the  poor  exile  to  do  so.'*  No  powerful  friend  stood 
up  for  the  friend  of  the  people.  No  courtier  vindicated  one 
who  had  trampled  on  the  neck  of  the  nobles.  His  own  genius 
was  his  only  friend  ;  on  that  only  could  he  rely.  He  sought 
Avignon  to  free  himself  from  the  accusations  against  him  ; 
and,  doubtless,  he  hoped  that  there  was  but  one  step  from  his 
acquittal  to  his  restoration.  Besides,  it  is  certain  that  the  Em- 
peror had  been  applied  to  formally  to  surrender  Rienzi.  He 
had  the  choice  before  him  ;  for  to  that  sooner  or  later  it  must 
come  :  to  go  free,  or  to  go  in  bonds — as  a  criminal,  or  as  a 
Roman.  He  chose  the  latter.  Wherever  he  passed  along  the 
people  rose  in  every  town,  in  every  hamlet.  The  name  of  the 
'great  Tribune  was  honored  throughout  all  Italy.  They  be- 
sought him  not  to  rush  into  the  very  den  of  peril  ;  they  im- 
plored him  to  save  himself  for  that  country  which  he  had 
sought  to  raise.  *  I  go  to  vindicate  myself,  and  to  triumph,' 
was  the  Tribune's  answer.  Solemn  honors  were  paid  him  in 
the  cities  through  which  he  passed  ;  *  and  I  am  told  that  never 
ambassador,  prince,  or  baron,  entered  Avignon  with  so  long  a 
train  as  that  which  followed  into  these  very  walls  the  steps  of 
Cola  di  Rienzi." 

"And  on  his  arrival  ?  " 

*'*P«r  tutto  la  via  li  furo  fatti  solenni  onori,"  ctc—riV.  di  Col.  di  Rienzi^  lib.  ii.,  cap.  13. 


300 


RIENZL 


"  He  demanded  an  audience,  that  he  might  refute  the  charges 
against  him.  He  flung  down  the  gage  to  the  proud  cardinals 
who  had  excommunicated  him.     He  besought  a  trial." 

"  And  what  said  the  Pope  ?  " 

"  Nothing — by  word.     Yon  tower  was  his  answer ! " 

"A  rough  one  !  " 

"  But  there  have  been  longer  roads  than  that  from  the  prison 
to  the  palace,  and  God  made  not  men  like  Rienzi  for  the  dun- 
geon and  the  chain." 

As  Angelo  said  this  with  a  loud  voice,  and  with  all  the  en- 
thusiasm with  which  the  fame  of  the  fallen  Tribune  had  in- 
spired the  youth  of  Rome,  he  heard  a  sigh  behind  him.  He 
turned  in  some  confusion,  and  at  the  door  which  admitted  to 
the  chamber  occupied  by  the  Signora  Cesarini  stood  a  female 
of  noble  presence.  Attired  in  the  richest  garments,  gold  and 
gems  were  dull  to  the  lustre  of  her  dark  eyes,  and  as  she  now 
stood,  erect  and  commanding,  never  seemed  brow  more  made 
for  the  regal  crown  ;  never  did  human  beauty  more  fully  con- 
summate the  ideal  of  a  heroine  and  a  queen. 

"  Pardon  me,  signora,"  said  Angelo  hesitatingly  ;  "  I  spoke 
loud,  I  disturbed  you  ;  but  I  am  a  Roman,  and  my  theme 
was — " 

"  Rienzi !  "  said  the  lady,  approaching  ;  **  a  fit  one  to  stir  a 
Roman  heart.  Nay — no  excuses  ;  they  would  sound  ill  on  thy 
generous  lips.  Ah,  if — "  the  signora  paused  suddenly,  and 
sighed  again  ;  then  in  an  altered  and  graver  tone  she  resumed  : 
*'  If  fate  restore  Rienzi  to  his  proper  fortunes,  he  shall  know 
what  thou  deemest  of  him." 

*'  If  you,  lady,  who  are  of  Naples,"  said  Angelo,  with  mean- 
ing emphasis,  "  speak  thus  of  a  fallen  exile,  what  must  I  have 
felt  who  acknowledged  a  sovereign  ?  " 

"  Rienzi  is  not  of  Rome  alone,  he  is  of  Italy — of  the  world," 
returned  the  signora.  "  And  you,  Angelo,  who  have  had  the 
boldness  to  speak  thus  of  one  fallen,  have  proved  with  what 
loyalty  you  can  serve  those  who  have  the  fortune  to  own 
/ou." 

As  she  spoke  the  signora  looked  at  the  page's  downcast  and 
olushing  face  long  and  wistfully,  with  the  gaze  of  one  accus- 
tomed to  read  the  soul  in  the  countenance. 

*'  Men  are  often  deceived,"  said  she  sadly,  yet  with  a  half 
smile;  "but  women  rarely — save  in  love.  Would  that  Rome 
were  filled  with  such  as  you  !  Enough  !  Hark  !  Is  that  the 
sound  of  hoofs  in  the  court  below  ?  " 

"  Madam,"  said  Giacom^,  bringing  his  mantle  gallantly  ovei 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  30I 

his  shoulder,  "I  see  the  servitors  of  Monsignore  the   Cardinal 
d'Albornoz.     It  is  the  Cardinal  himself." 

*'  It  is  well  !  "  said  the  signora,  with  a  brightening  eye  ;  *'  I 
await  him  ! "  With  these  words  she  withdrew  by  the  door 
through  which  she  had  surprised  the  Roman  page. 


CHAPTER  11. 

THE    CHARACTER    OF  A  WARRIOR  PRIEST — AN  INTERVIEW — THB 
INTRIGUE  AND  COUNTER-INTRIGUE  OF  COURTS. 

Gii.es  (or  Egidio*),  Cardinal  d'Albornoz,  was  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  men  of  that  remarkable  time,  so  prodigal  ol 
genius.  Boasting  his  descent  from  the  royal  houses  of  Aragon 
and  Leon,  he  had  early  entered  the  Church,  and,  yet  almost  a 
youth,  attained  the  archbishopric  of  Toledo.  But  no  peaceful 
career,  however  brilliant,  sufficed  to  his  ambition.  He  could 
not  content  himself  with  the  honors  of  the  Church,  unless  they 
were  the  honors  of  a  church  militant.  In  the  war  against  the 
Moors,  no  Spaniard  had  more  highly  distinguished  himself; 
and  Alphonso  XL,  King  of  Castile,  had  insisted  on  receiving 
from  the  hand  of  the  martial  priest  the  badge  of  knighthood. 
After  the  death  of  Alphonso,  who  was  strongly  attached  to  liim, 
Albornoz  repaired  to  Avignon,  and  obtained  from  Clement  VI. 
the  cardinal's  hat.  With  Innocent  he  continued  in  high  favor, 
and  now,  constantly  in  the  councils  of  the  Pope,  rumors  of  war- 
like preparations,  under  the  banners  of  Albornoz,  for  the  recov- 
ery of  the  papal  dominions  from  the  various  tyrants  that- 
usurped  them,  were  already  circulated  through  the  court.* 
Bold,  sagacious,  enterprising,  and  cold-hearted — with  the  valor 
of  the  knight,  and  the  cunning  of  the  priest — such  was  the 
character  of  Giles,  Cardinal  d'Albornoz. 

Leaving  his  attendant  gentlemen  in  the  antechamber,  Albor- 
noz was  ushered  into  the  apartment  of  Signora  Cesarini.  In 
person  the  Cardinal  was  about  the  middle  height ;  the  dark 
complexion  of  Spain  had  faded  by  thought,  and  the  wear  of 

=••  Egidio  is  the  proper  Italian  equivalent  to  the  French  name  Gilles — but  the  Cardinal 
IS  generally  called,  by  the  writers  of  that  day,  Gilio  d'Albornoz. 

^'  It  is  a  characteristic  anecdote  of  this  bold  churchman,  that  Urban  V.  one  day  demanded 
an  account  of  the  sum  spent  irt  his  military  expedition  against  the  Italian  tyrants.  The 
Cardinal  prtsented  to  the  Pope  a  wagnn  filled  with  the  keys  of  the  cities  and  fortresses  he 
h»d  taken.  "  This  is  my  accnwttt,"  said  he;  "you  perceive  how  1  have  invested  youi 
MMcy. ' '    Th«  Pe|)«  «&br«t»d  him  ^gd  f «v«  him  M  Cwrth«r  trouMt  «bo«it  hit  «tf«ttfl(«' 


30J  RIENZI, 

ambitious  schemes,  into  a  sallow  but  hardy  hue  ;  his  brow  was 
deeply  furrowed,  and  though  iiot  yet  passed  the  prime  of  life^ 
Albornoz  might  seem  to  have  entered  age.  but  for  the  firmness 
of  his  step,  the  slender  elasticity  of  his  frame,  and  an  eye  which 
had  acquired  calmness  and  depth  from  thought  without  losing 
any  of  the  brilliancy  of  youth. 

"  Beautiful  signora,"  said  the  Cardinal,  bending  over  the 
hand  of  the  Cesr.rini  with  a  grace  which  betokened  more  of 
the  prince  than  of  the  priest :  "  the  commands  of  his  Holiness 
have  detained  me,  I  fear,  beyond  the  hour  in  which  you  vouch- 
safed to  appoint  my  homage,  but  my  heart  has  been  with  you 
since  we  parted." 

"  The  Cardinal  d'Albornoz,"  replied  the  signora,  gently  with- 
drawing her  hand-  and  seating  herself,  "  has  so  many  demands 
on  his  time,  from  the  duties  of  his  rank  and  renown,  that  me- 
thinks  to  divert  his  attention  for  a  few  moments  to  less  noble 
thoughts  is  a  kind  of  treason  to  his  fame." 

"  Ah,  lady,"  replied  the  Cardinal,  "  never  was  my  ambition 
so  nobly  directed  as  it  is  now.  And  it  were  a  prouder  lot  to 
be  at  thy  feet  than  on  the  throne  of  St.  Peter." 

A  momentary  blush  passed  over  the  cheek  of  the  signora, 
yet  it  seemed  the  blush  of  indignation  as  much  as  of  vanity  ;  it 
was  succeeded  by  an  extreme  paleness.  She  paused  before 
she  replied  ;  and  then  fixing  her  large  and  haughty  eyes  on  the 
enamoured  Spaniard,  she  said  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  My  Lord  Cardinal,  I  do  not  affect  to  misunderstand  your 
words  ;  neither  do  I  place  them  to  the  account  of  a  general 
gallantry.  I  am  vain  enough  to  believe  you  imagine  you  speak 
truly  when  you  say  you  love  me." 

"  Imagine  I  "  echoed  the  Spaniard. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  continued  the  signora.  *'She  whom  the 
Cardinal  Albornoz  honors  with  his  love  has  a  right  to  demand 
of  him  its  proofs.  In  the  Papal  Court,  v/hose  power  like  his  ? 
I  require  you  to  exercise  it  for  me." 

"  Speak,  dearest  lady  ;  have  your  estates  been  seized  by  the 
barbarians  of  these  lawless  times  .^  Hath  any  dared  to  injure 
you  ?  Lands  and  titles,  are  these  thy  wish  ?  My  power  is  thy 
slave." 

''Cardinal,  no  !  there  is  one  thing  dearer  to  an  Italian  and 
a  woman  than  wealth  or  station — it  is  revenge  I  " 

The  Cardinal  drew  back  from  the  flashing  eye  that  was  bent 
upon  him,  ]  k'c  the  spirit  of  her  speech  touched  a  congenial 
chord. 

"Ti^ere,'    «aid  hc»  «,ftw  a  lut*«  hesitation,  '*  th^r<?  Rpak« 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  3O5 

high  descent.  Reveri^ge  is  the  luxury  of  the  well-born.  Lee 
serfs  and  churls  forgive  an  injury.     Proceed,  lady." 

'^' Hast  thou  heard  the  last  news  from  Rome  ?"  asked  the 
signora. 

*'  Surely,"  replied  the  Cardinal,  in  some  surprise,  *'  we  were 
poor  statesmen  to  be  ignorant  of  the  condition  of  the  capital 
of  the  papal  dominions  ;  and  my  heart  mourns  for  that  unfor- 
tunate city.  But  wherefore  wouldst  thou  question  me  of 
Rome  ?     Thou  art—" 

"  Roman  !  Know,  my  lord,  that  I  have  a  purpose  in  calhng 
myself  of  Naples.  To  your  discretion  I  intrust  my  secret — 1 
am  of  Rome  !     Tell  me  of  her  state." 

"  Fairest  one,"  returned  the  Cardinal, "  I  should  have  known 
that  that  brow  and  presence  were  not  of  the  light  Campania. 
My  reason  should  have  told  me  that  they  bore  the  stamp  of 
the  Empress  of  the  World.  The  state  of  Rome,"  continued 
Albornoz,  in  a  graver  tone,  "  is  briefly  told.  Thou  knowest 
that  after  the  fall  of  the  able  but  insolent  Rienzi,  Pepin,  Count 
of  Minorbino  (a  creature  of  Montreal's),  who  had  assisted  in 
expelling  him,  would  have  betrayed  Rome  to  Montreal,  but  he 
was  neither  strong  enough  nor  wise  enough,  and  the  barons 
chased  him  as  he  had  chased  the  Tribune.  Some  time  after- 
wards a  new  demagogue,  John  Cerroni,  was  installed  in  the 
Capitol.  He  once  more  expelled  the  nobles  ;  new  revolutions 
ensued — the  barons  were  recalled.  The  weak  successor  of 
Rienzi  summoned  the  people  to  arms — in  vain  ;  in  terror  and 
despair  he  abdicated  his  power,  and  left  the  city  a  prey  to  the 
interminable  feuds  of  the  Orsini,  the  Colonna,  and  the  Savelli.** 

"  Thus  much  I  know,  my  lord  ;  but  when  his  HoHness  suc- 
ceeded to  the  chair  of  Clement  VI. — " 

"  Then,"  said  Albornoz,  and  a  slight  frown  darkened  his 
sallow  brow,  *'then  came  the  blacker  part  of  the  history.  Two 
senators  were  elected  in  concert  by  the  Pope." 

"Their  names?" 

"Bertoldo  Orsini,  and  one  of  the  Colonna.  A  few  weeks 
afterwards  the  high  price  of  provisions  stung  the  rascal  stom- 
achs of  the  mob  ;  they  rose,  they  clamored,  they  armed,  they 
besieged  the  Capitol — " 

"Well,  well,"  cried  the  signora,  clasping  her  hands,  and  be- 
tokening in  every  feature  her  interest  in  the  narratior.. 

"Colonna  only  escaped  death  by  a  vile  disguise;  Bertoldo 
Orsini  was  stoned." 

"  Stoned  !— there  fell  one  !  " 

**  Ves,  lady,  one  of  a  great  house  \  the  least  drop  oi  whose 


304  RIENZI, 

blood  were  worth  an  ocean  of  plebeian  puddle.  At  present, 
all  is  disorder,  misrule,  anarchy,  at  Rome.  The  contests  of 
the  nobles  shake  the  city  to  the  centre  ;  and  prince  and  people, 
wearied  of  so  many  experiments  to  establish  a  government, 
have  now  no  ^^overnor  but  the  fear  of  the  sword.  Such,  fair 
madam,  is  the  state  of  Rome.  Sigh  not,  it  occupies  now  our 
care.  It  shall  be  remedied  ;  and  I,  madam,  may  be  the  happy 
instrument  of  restoring  peace  to  your  native  city." 

"There  is  but  one  way  of  restoring  peace  to  Rome,"  an- 
\\ered  the  signora  abruptly,  "and  that  is — The  restoration  of 
Rienzi !  " 

The  Cardinal  started.  "  Madam,"  said  he,  *'  do  I  hear 
aright  ?  Are  you  not  nobly  born  ?  Can  you  desire  the  rise  of 
a  plebeian  ?  Did  you  not  speak  of  revenge,  and  now  you  ask 
for  mercy  ?" 

"Lord  Cardinal,"  said  the  beautiful  signora  earnestly.  "I  do 
not  ask  for  mercy :  such  a  word  is  not  for  the  lips  of  one  who 
demands  justice.  Nobly  born  I  am — ay,  and  from  a  stock  to 
whose  long  descent  from  the  patricians  of  ancient  Rome  the 
high  line  of  Aragon  itself  would  be  of  yesterday.  Nay,  I  would 
not  offend  you,  Monsignore  ;  your  greatness  is  not  borrowed 
from  pedigrees  and  tombstones — your  greatness  is  your  own 
achieving  :  would  you  speak  honestly,  my  lord,  you  would  own 
that  you  are  proud  only  oi  your  own  laurels,  and  that,  in  your 
heart,  you  laugh  at  the  stately  fools  who  trick  themselves  out 
in  the  mouldering  finery  of  the  dead  ! " 

"  Muse  !  prophetess  !  you  speak  aright,"  said  the  high-spir- 
ited Cardinal,  with  unwonted  energy  ;  and  your  voice  is  like 
that  of  the  Fame  I  dreamed  of  in  my  youth.  Speak  on,  speak 
ever!" 

"Such,"  continued  the  signora,  "such  as  your  pride,  is 
the  just  pride  of  Rienzi.  Proud  that  he  is  the  workman  of  his 
own  great  renown.  In  such  as  the  Tribune  of  Rome  we 
acknowledge  the  founders  of  noble  lineage.  Ancestry  makes 
not  them — they  make  ancestry.  Enough  of  this.  I  am  of 
noble  race,  it  is  true  ;  but  my  house,  and  those  of  many,  have 
been  crushed  and  broken  beneath  the  yoke  of  the  Orsini  and 
Colonna — it  is  against  them  I  desire  revenge.  But  I  am  better 
than  an  Italian  lady,  I  am  a  Roman  woman  ;  I  weep  tears  of 
blood  for  the  disorders  of  my  unhappy  country.  I  mourn  that 
even  you,  my  lord, — yes,  that  a  barbarian,  however  eminent 
and  however  great,  should  mourn  for  Rome.  I  desire  to  re« 
Store  her  fortunes." 

"  But  Rienzi  would  only  restore  his  own." 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  305 

"Not  SO,  my  Lord  Cardinal ;  not  so.  Ambitious  and  proud 
he  may  be — great  souls  are  so — but  he  has  never  had  one  wish 
divorced  from  the  v^elfare  of  Rome.  But  put  aside  all  thought 
of  his  interests — it  is  not  of  these  I  speak.  You  desire  to  re- 
establish the  papal  power  in  Rome.  Your  senators  have  failed 
to  do  it.  Demagogues  fail  :  Rienzi  alone  can  succeed  •  he 
alone  can  command  the  turbulent  passions  of  the  barons ,  he 
alone  can  sway  the  capricious  and  fickle  mob.  Release,  restore 
Rienzi,  and  through  Rienzi  the  Pope  regains  Rome  ! " 

The  Cardinal  did  not  answer  for  some  moments.  Buried  as 
in  a  revery,  he  sate  motionless,  shading  his  face  with  his  hand. 
Perhaps  he  secretly  owned  there  was  a  wiser  policy  in  the 
suggestions  of  the  signora  than  he  cared  openly  to  confess. 
Lifting  his  head,  at  length,  from  his  bosom,  he  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  the  signora's  watchful  countenance,  and,  with  a  forced 
smile,  said  : 

"  Pardon  me,  madam  ;  but  while  we  play  the  politicians, 
forget  not  that  I  am  thy  adorer.  Sagacious  may  be  thy  coun- 
sels, yet  wherefore  are  they  urged  ?  Why  this  anxious  interest 
for  Rienzi  ?  If  by  releasing  him  the  Church  may  gain  an  ally, 
am  I  sure  that  Giles  d'Albornoz  will  not  raise  a  rival  ?" 

"My  lord,"  said  the  signora,  half  rising,  *'you  are  my 
suitor  ;  but  your  rank  does  not  tempt  me — your  gold  cannot 
buy.  If  you  love  me,  1  have  a  right  to  command  your  services 
to  whatsoever  task  I  would  require — it  is  the  law  of  chivalry.  If 
ever  I  yield  to  the  addresses  of  mortal  lover,  it  will  be  to  the 
man  who  restores  to  my  native  land  her  hero  and  her  saviour.'* 

"  Fair  patriot,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "  your  words  encourage 
my  hope,  yet  they  half  damp  my  ambition  ;  for  fain  would  I 
desire  that  love  and  not  service  should  alone  give  me  the  treas- 
ure that  I  ask.  But  hear  me,  sweet  lady  ;  you  overrate  my 
power :  I  cannot  deliver  Rienzi — he  is  accused  of  rebellion, 
he  is  excommunicated  for  heresy.  His  acquittal  rests  with 
himself.*" 

*'  You  can  procure  his  trial  ?  " 

"Perhaps,  lady." 

"  That  is  his  acquittal.  And  a  private  audience  of  his  Holi- 
xiess?" 

"  Doubtless." 

"  T/iaf  is  his  restoration  !     Behold  all  I  ask  !  " 

'*  And  then,  sweet  Ronian,  it  will  be  minn  to  ask,"  said  the 
Cardinal  passionately,  dropping  on  his  knee,  and  taking  the 
signora's  hand.  For  one  moment  that  proud  lady  felt  that 
she  was  woman — she  blushed,  she  trembled  ;    but  it  was  not 


306  RIENZI, 

(could  the  Cardinal  have  read  that  heart)  with  passion  or  with 
weakness  ;  it  was  with  terror  and  with  shame.  Passively  she 
surrendered  her  hand  to  the  Cardinal,  who  covered  it  with 
kisses. 

"Thus  inspired,"  said  Albornoz,  rising,  "  I  will  not  doubt  of 
success.     To-morrow  I  wait  on  thee  again." 

He  pressed  her  hand  to  his  heart — the  lady  felt  it  not.  He 
sighed  his  farewell — she  did  not  hear  it.  Lingeringly  he 
gazed  ;  and  slowly  he  departed.  But  it  was  some  moments 
before,  recalled  to  herself,  the  signora  felt  that   she  was  alone. 

"Alone!"  she  cried,  half  aloud,  and  with  w.M  emphasis; 
"alone!  Oh,  what  have  I  undergone!  What  have  1  said! 
Unfaithful,  even  in  thought,  to  hiyn  !  Oh,  never  !  never  !  I, 
that  have  felt  the  kiss  of  his  hallowing  lips — that  have  slept  on 
his  kingly  heart — I  ! — Holy  Mother,  befriend  and  strengthen 
me  \  "  she  continued,  as,  weeping  bitterly,  she  sunk  upon  her 
knees  ;  and  for  some  moments  she  was  lost  in  prayer.  Then, 
rising  composed,  but  deadly  pale,  and  with  the  tears  rolling 
heavily  down  her  cheeks,  the  signora  passed  slowly  to  the  case- 
ment ;  she  threw  it  open  and  bent  forward  ;  the  air  of  the  de- 
clining day  came  softly  on  her  temples  ;  it  cooled,  it  mitigated, 
the  fever  that  preyed  within.  Dark  and  huge  before  her 
frowned,  in  its  gloomy  shadow,  the  tower  in  which  Rienzi  was 
confined :  she  gazed  at  it  long  and  wistfully,  and  then,  turning 
away,  drew  from  the  folds  of  her  robe  a  small  and  sharp  dag- 
ger. "  Let  me  save  him  for  glory  ! "  she  murmured ;  "  and  this 
shall  save  me  from  dishonor." 


CHAPTER  III. 

*IOLY     MEN. — SAGACIOUS     DELIBERATIONS. — JUST    RESOLVES— 
AND  SORDID  MOTIVES  TO  ALL. 

Enamoured  of  the  beauty,  and  almost  equally  so  of  the 
lofty  spirit,  of  the  Signora  Cesarini,  as  was  the  warlike  Cardinal 
oi  Spain,  love  with  him  was  not  so  master  a  passion  as  that  am- 
bition of  complete  success  in  all  the  active  designs  of  life 
which  had  hitherto  animated  his  character  and  signalized  his 
career.  Musing,  as  he  left  the  signora,  on  her  wish  for  the  res- 
toration of  the  Roman  Tribune,  his  experienced  and  profound 
intellect  ran  swiftly  through  whatever  advantages  to  his  own 
political  designs  might  result  from  that  restoration.     We  have 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  307 

seen  that  it  was  the  intention  of  the  new  Pontiff  to  attempt  the 
recovery  of  the  patrimonial  territories,  now  torn  from  him   by 
the  gripe  of  able  and  disaffected  tyrants.     With  this   view  a 
military  force  was  already  in  preparation,  and  the  Cardinal  was 
already  secretly  nominated  the  chief.     But  the  force  was  very 
inadequate  to  the  enterprise  ;  and  Albornoz   depended  much 
upon  the  moral  strength  of  the  cause  in  bringing  recruits  to  his 
standard  in  his  progress  through  the  Italian  States.     The  won- 
derful rise  of  Rienzi  had  excited  an  extraordinary  enthusiasm 
m  his  favor  through  all  the  free  populations  of  Italy.     And  this 
had  been  yet  more  kindled  and  inflamed  by  the  influential  elo- 
quence of  Petrarch,  who,  at  that  time,  possessed  of  a  power 
greater  than  ever,  before  or  since  (not  even  excepting  the  Sage 
of  Ferney),  wielded  by  a  single  literary  man,  had  put  forth  his 
boldest  genius  in  behalf  of  the  Roman  Tribune.     Such  a  com- 
panion as  Rienzi  in  the  camp  of  the  Cardinal  might  be  a  mag- 
net of  attraction  to  the  'youth  and  enterprise  of  Italy.     On 
Hearing  Rome  he  might  himself  judge  how  far  it  would  be  ad- 
visable to  reinstate  Rienzi  as  a  delegate  of  the  papal  power. 
And,  in  the  mean  while,  the  Roman's  influence  might  be  ser- 
viceable, whether  to  awe  the  rebellious  nobles  or  conciliate  the 
stubborn  people.     On  the  other  hand,  the  Cardinal  was  shrewd 
enough  to  perceive  that  no  possible  good  could  arise  from  Ri- 
enzi's  present  confinement.     With  every  month  it  excited  deep- 
er and   more   universal   sympathy.     To   his   lonely  dungeon 
turned  half   the   hearts  of  republican  Italy.     Literature  had 
leagued  its  new  and  sudden,  and  therefore  mighty  and  even 
disproportioned,  power  with  his  cause  ;  and  the  Pope,  without 
daring  to  be  his  judge,  incurred  the  odium  of  being  his  gaoler. 
'A  popular  prisoner,"  said  the  sagacious  Cardinal  to  himself, "  is 
the  most  dangerous  of  guests.     Restore  him  as  your  servant,  or 
destroy  him  as  your  foe  !     In  this  case  I  see  no  alternative  but 
acquittal  or  the  knife  !  "     In  these  reflections  that  able  plotter, 
deep  in  the  Machiavelism  of  the  age,  divorced  the  lover  from 
the  statesman. 

Recurring  now  to  the  former  character,  he  felt  some  disa- 
greeable and  uneasy  forebodings  at  the  earnest  interest  of  his 
mistress.  Fain  would  he  have  attributed,  either  to  some  fan- 
tasy of  patriotism  or  some  purpose  of  revenge,  the  anxiety  of 
the  Cesarina  ;  and  there  was  much  in  her  stern  and  haughty 
character  which  favored  that  belief.  But  he  was  forced  to  ac- 
knowledge to  himself  some  jealous  apprehension  of  a  sinister 
and  latent  motive,  which  touched  his  vanity  and  alarmed  his 
Jqvts     *'  t4«^fbeit»"  he  though^  as  he  turned  from  hm  unwilling 


JoS  RIENZI, 

fear,  "i  can  play  with  her  at  her  own  weapons  ;  I  can  obtain 
the  release  of  Rienzi,  and  claim  my  reward.  If  denied,  the 
hand  that  opened  the  dungeon  can  again  rivet  the  chain.  In 
her  anxiety  is  my  power  ! 

These  thoughts  the  Cardinal  was  still  revolving  in  his  palace, 
when  he  was  suddenly  summoned  to  attend  the  Pontiff. 

The  pontifical  palace  no  longer  exhibited  the  gorgeous  yet 
graceful  luxury  of  Clement  VJ.,  and  the  sarcastic  Cardinal 
smiled  to  himself  at  the  quiet  gloom  of  the  ante-chambers. 
"  He  thinks  to  set  an  example — this  poor  native  of  Limoges  !  " 
thought  Albornoz  ;  "  and  has  but  the  mortification  of  finding 
himself  eclipsed  by  the  poorest  bishop.  He  humbles  himself, 
and  fancies  that  the  humility  will  be  contagious." 

His  Holiness  was  seated  before  a  small  and  rude  table  be- 
strewed with  papers,  his  face  buried  in  his  hands ;  the  room 
was  simply  furnished,  and  in  a  small  niche  beside  the  case- 
ment was  an  ivory  crucifix  ;  below,  the  death's  head  and  cross- 
bones,  which  most  monks  then  introduced  with  a  purpose  sim- 
ilar to  that  of  the  ancients  by  the  like  ornaments, — mementos 
of  the  shortness  of  life,  and  therefore  admonitions  to  make  the 
best  of  it  !  On  the  ground  lay  a  map  of  tlie  patrimonial  terri- 
tory, with  the  fortresses  in  especial  distinctly  and  prominently 
marked.  The  Pope  gently  lifted  up  his  head  as  the  Cardinal 
was  announced,  and  discovered  a  plain  but  sensible  and  some- 
what interesting  countenance.  **  My  son  !  "  said  he,  with  a 
kindly  courtesy  to  the  lowly  salutation  of  the  proud  Spaniard, 
**  scarcely  wouldst  thou  imagine,  after  our  long  conference  this 
morning,  that  new  cares  would  so  soon  demand  the  assistance  of 
thy  counsels.  Verily,  the  wreath  of  tliorns  stings  sharp  under  the 
triple  crown;  and  I  sometimes  long  for  the  quiet  abode  of  my  old 
professor's  chair  in  Toulouse  :  my  station  is  of  pain  and  toil." 

**  God  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,"  observed  the 
Cardinal,  with  pious  and  compassionate  gravity. 

Innocent  could  scarcely  refrain  a  smile  as  he  replied,  "  The 
lamb  that  carries  the  cross  must  have  the  strength  of  the  lion. 
Since  we  parted,  my  son,  I  have  had  painful  intelligence  ;  our 
couriers  have  arrived  from  the  Campagna — the  heathen  rage 
furiously — the  force  of  John  di  Vico  has  augmented  fearfully, 
and  the  most  redoubted  adventurer  of  Europe  has  enlisted  un- 
der his  banner." 

"  Does  his  Holiness,"  cried  the  Cardinal  anxiously,  "speak 
of  Fra  Moreale,  the  Knight  of  St.  John  ?  " 

"Of  no  less  a  warrior,"  returned  the  Pontiff.  "I  dread  the 
\*ast  ambition  of  that  wild  adventurer." 


THE   LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  309 

"  Your  Holiness  hath  cause,"  said  the  Cardinal  drily. 

"  Some  letters  of  his  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  ser- 
vants of  the  Church  ;  they  are  here  ;  read  them,  my  son." 

Albornoz  received  and  deliberately  scanned  the  letters ;  this 
done,  he  replaced  them  on  the  table,  and  remained  for  a  few 
moments  silent  and  absorbed. 

"What  think  you,  my  son  ?"  said  the  Pope,  at  length,  with 
an  impatient  and  even  peevish  tone. 

**I  think  that,  with  Montreal's  hot  genius  and  John  di  Vico's 
frigid  villany,  your  Holiness  may  live  to  envy,  if  not  the  quiet, 
at  least  the  revenue,  of  the  professor's  chain" 

"  How,  Cardinal  !  "  said  the  Pope  hastily,  and  with  an  angry 
flush  on  his  pale  brow.     The  Cardinal  quietly  proceeded  : 

"  By  these  letters  it  seems  that  Montreal  has  written  to  all 
the  commanders  of  free  lances  throughout  Italy,  offering 
the  highest  pay  of  a  soldier  to  every  man  who  will  join  his 
standard,  combined  with  the  richest  plunder  of  a  brigand.  He 
meditates  great  schemes  then  !     I  know  the  man  !  " 

"  Well, — and  our  course  ?  " 

*'  Is  plain,"  said  the  Cardinal  loftily,  and  with  an  eye  that 
flashed  with  a  soldier's  fire.  "  Not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost ! 
Thy  son  should  at  once  take  the  field.  Up  with  the  Banner  of 
the  Church  !  " 

"  But  are  we  strong  enough  ?  Our  numbers  are  few.  Zeal 
slackens  !     The  piety  of  the  Baldwins  is  no  more  ! " 

"  Your  Holiness  knows  well,"  said  the  Cardinal,  ''  that  for 
the  multitude  of  men  there  are  two  watchwords  of  war — Liberty 
and  Religion.  If  religion  begins  to  fail,  we  must  employ  the 
profaner  word.  '  Up  with  the  Banner  of  the  Church — and 
down  with  the  tyrants  ! '  We  will  proclaim  equal  laws  and  free 
government ;  *  and,  God  willing,  our  camp  shall  prosper  better 
with  those  promises  than  the  tents  of  Montreal  with  the  more 
vulgar  shout  of  '  Pay  and  Rapine.'  " 

"Giles  d'Albornoz,"  said  the  Pope  emphatically;  and, 
warmed  by  the  spirit  of  the  Cardinal,  he  dropped  the  wonted 
etiquette  of  phrase,  "  I  trust  implicitly  to  you.  Now  the  right 
hand  of  the  Church — hereafter,  perhaps,  its  head.  Too  well  I 
feel  that  the  lot  has  fallen  on  a  lowly  place.  My  successor  must 
requite  my  deficiencies." 

No  changing  hue,  no  brightening  glance,  betrayed  to  the 
searching  eye  of  the  Pope  whatever  emotion  these  words  had 

♦  In  correcting  the  pages  of  this  work,  in  the  year  1847  •  •.  •  .  strange  coinciclences 
between  the  present  policy  of  the  Roman  Church  and  that  by  which  in  the  fourteenth  cen«- 
tury  it  recovered  both  spiritual  and  temporal  power  cannot  fail  to  suggest  themselvefi. 


^id  ktfeNZt, 

called  up  in  the  breast  of  the  ambitious  Cardinal.  He  bowed 
his  proud  head  humbly  as  he  answered,  *'  Pray  Heaven  that 
Innocent  VI.  may  long  live  to  guide  the  Church  to  glory.  For 
Giles  d'Albornoz,  less  priest  than  soldier,  the  din  of  the  camp, 
the  breath  of  the  war-steed,  suggest  the  only  aspirations  which 
he  ever  dares  indulge.  But  has  your  Holiness  imparted  to  your 
servant  all  that — " 

"  Nay,"  interrupted  Innocent,  "  I  have  yet  intelligence 
equally  ominous.  This  John  di  Vico, — pest  go  with  him  ! — 
who  still  styles  himself  (the  excommunicated  ruffian  !  )  Pre- 
fect of  Rome,  has  so  filled  that  unhappy  city  with  his  emis- 
saries, that  we  have  well-nigh  lost  the  seat  of  the  Apostle. 
Rome,  long  in  anarchy,  seems  now  in  open  rebellion.  The 
nobles — sons  of  Belial ! — it  is  true,  are  once  more  humbled  ; 
but  how  ?  One  Baroncelli,  a  new  demagogue,  the  fiercest,  the 
most  bloody  that  the  fiend  ever  helped,  has  arisen — is  invested 
by  the  mob  with  power,  and  uses  it  to  butcher  the  people  and 
insult  the  Pontiff.  Wearied  of  the  crimes  of  this  man  (which 
are  not  even  decorated  by  ability),  the  shout  of  the  people  day 
and  night  along  the  streets  is  for  '  Rienzi  the  Tribune.'  " 

"  Ha  !  "  said  the  Cardinal,  "  Rienzi's  faults  then  are  for- 
gotten in  Rome,  and  there  is  felt  for  him  the  same  enthusiasm 
in  that  city  as  in  the  rest  of  Italy  ?  " 

"Alas!  it  is  so." 

*'  It  is  well,  I  have  thought  of  this  :  Rienzi  can  accompany 
iny  progress — " 

"  My  son  !  the  rebel,  the  heretic — " 

"  By  your  Holiness's  absolution  will  become  quiet  subject 
and  orthodox  Catholic,"  said  Albornoz.  *'  Men  are  good  or 
bad  as  they  suit  our  purpose.  What  matters  a  virtue  that  is 
useless,  or  a  crime  that  is  useful,  to  us  ?  The  army  of  the 
Church  proceeds  against  tyrants — it  proclaims  everywhere  to 
the  papal  towns  the  restoration  of  their  popular  constitutions. 
Sees  not  your  Holiness  that  the  acquittal  of  Rienzi,  the  popular 
darling,  will  be  hailed  an  earnest  of  your  sincerity  ?  Sees  not 
your  Holiness  that  his  name  will  fight  for  us  ?  Sees  not  your 
Holiness  that  the  great  demagogue  Rienzi  must  be  used  to  ex- 
tinguish the  little  demagogue  Baroncelli  ?  We  must  regain  the 
Romans,  whether  of  the  city  or  whether  in  the  seven  towns  of 
John  di  Vico.  When  they  hear  Rienzi  is  in  our  camp,  trust 
me,  we  shall  have  a  multitude  of  deserters  from  the  tyrants — 
trust  me,  we  shall  hear  no  more  of  Baroncelli." 

"  Ever  sagacious,"  said  the  Pope  musingly  ;  **  it  is  true,  we 
can  use  this  man  :  but  with  caution.    His  genius  is  formidable — ** 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIPUNES.  31I 

"And  therefore  must  be  conciliated  ;  if  we  acquit,  we  must 
make  him  ours.  My  experience  has  taught  me  this,  when  you 
cannot  slay  a  demagogue  by  law,  crush  him  with  honors.  He 
must  be  no  longer  Tribune  of  the  People.  Give  him  the  patri- 
cian title  of  Senator^  and  he  is  then  the  lieutenant  of  the 
Pope  ! " 

*'  I     /ill  see   to   this,  my  son — your   suggestions  please,  but 
alarm   me  :  he   shall   at  least  be  examined  ;  but  if    found  a 
;  heretic — " 

'v     "Should,  I  humbly  advise,  be  declared  a  saint." 
i     The  Pope  bent  his  brow  for  a  moment,  but  the  effort  was  too 
much  for  him,  and  after  a  moment's  struggle,  he  fairly  laughed 
aloud. 

*'  Go  to,  my  son,"  said  he,  affectionately  patting  the  Cardi. 
nal's  sallow  cheek.  *'  Go  to.  If  the  world  heard  thee  wha'/ 
would  it  say  ?" 

"  That  Giles  d'Albornoz  had  just  enough  religion  to  remem 
ber  that  the  State  is  a  Church,  but  not  too  much  to  forget  thai 
the  Church  is  a  State." 

With  these  words  the  conference  ended.  That  very  evening 
the  Pope  decreed  that  Rienzi  should  be  permitted  the  trial  he 
had  demanded. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   LADY   AND   THE   PAGE. 

It  wanted  three  hours  of  midnight,  when  Albornoz,  resum- 
ing his  character  of  gallant,  despatched  to  the  Signora  Cesarini 
'j'.e  following  billet  : 

"  Your  commands  are  obeyed.  Rienzi  will  receive  an  exami- 
nation on  his  faith.  It  is  well  that  he  should  be  prepared.  It 
may  suit  your  purpose,  as  to  which  I  am  so  faintly  enlightened, 
to  appear  to  the  prisoner  what  you  are — the  obtainer  of  this 
grace.  See  how  implicitly  one  noble  heart  can  trust  another  ! 
I  send  by  the  bearer  an  order  that  will  admit  one  of  your  servi- 
tors to  the  prisoner's  cell.  Be  it,  if  you  will,  your  task  to  an- 
nounce to  him  the  new  crisis  of  his  fate.  Ah  !  madam,  may 
/ortune  be  as  favorable  to  me,  and  grant  me  the  same  inter- 
cessor— from  thy  lips  my  sentence  is  to  come." 

As  Albornoz  finished  this  epistle,  he  summoned  his  confiden. 
^ial  attendant,  a  Spanish  gentleman,  who  saw  nothing  in  hi* 


312  RIENZI, 

noble  birth  that  should  prevent  his  fulfilling  the  various  hests 
of  the  Cardinal. 

**  Alvarez,"  said  he,  "  these  to  the  Signcra  Cesarini  by  an- 
other hand  ;  thou  art  unknown  to  her  household.  Repair  to 
the  state  tower ;  this  to  the  Governor  admits  thee.  Mark  who 
is  admitted  to  the  prisoner  Cola  di  Rienzi  ;  know  his  name, 
examine  whence  he  comes.  Be  keen,  Alvarez.  Learn  by  what 
motive  the  Cesarini  interests  herself  in  the  prisoner's  fate.  All 
too  of  herself,  birth,  fortunes,  lineage,  would  be  welcome  intel- 
ligence. Thou  comprehendest  me  ?  It  is  well.  One  caution — ■ 
thou  hast  no  mission  from,  no  connection  with,  me.  Thou  art 
an  officer  of  the  prison,  or  of  the  Pope, — what  thou  wilt.  Give 
me  the  rosary  ;  light  the  lamp  before  the  crucifix  ;  place  yon 
hair-shirt  beneath  those  arms.  I  would  have  it  appear  as  if 
jficafit  to  be  hidden  !  Tell  Gomez  that  the  Dominican 
preacher  is  to  be  admitted." 

"  Those  friars  have  zeal,"  continued  the  Cardinal  to  him- 
self, as,  after  executing  his  orders,  Alvarez  withdrew.  "They 
vv;>uld  burn  a  man — but  only  on  the  Bible  !  They  are  worth 
conciliating,  if  the  triple  crown  be  really  worth  the  winning  ; 
were  it  mine,  I  would  add  the  eagle's  plume  to  it" 

And  plunged  into  the  aspiring  future,  this  bold  man  forgot 
even  the  object  of  his  passion.  In  real  life,  after  a  certain 
age,  ambitious  men  love  indeed  ;  but  it  is  only  as  an  interlude. 
And  indeed,  with  most  men,  life  has  more  absorbing  though 
not  more  frequent  concerns  than  those  of  love.  Love  is  the 
business  of  the  idle,  but  the  idleness  of  the  busy. 

The  Cesarini  was  alone  when  the  Cardinal's  messenger  ar- 
rived, and  he  was  scarcely  dismissed  with  a  few  lines,  expres- 
sive of  a  gratitude  which  seemed  to  bear  down  all  those  guards 
with  which  the  coldness  of  the  Signora  usually  fenced  her 
pride,  before  the  page  Angelo  was  summoned  to  her  presence 

The  room  was  dark  with  the  shades  of  the  gathering  night 
when  the  youth  entered,  and  he  discerned  bat  dimly  the  out- 
line of  the  signora's  stately  form  ;  but  by  the  tone  of  her  voice, 
he  perceived  that  she  was  deeply  agitated. 

**  Angelo,"  said  she,  as  he  approached,  "Angelo — "  and  her 
voice  failed  her.  She  paused  as  for  breath,  and  again  pro- 
ceeded. "  You  alone  have  served  us  faithfully  ;  you  alone 
shared  our  escape,  our  wanderings,  our  exile  ;  you  alone 
know  my  secret  ;  you  of  my  train  alone  are  Roman  !  Roman  ! 
It  was  once  a  great  name  ;  Angelo,  the  name  has  fallen  ;  but 
it  is  only  because  the  nature  of  the  Roman  race  fell  first. 
Haughty  they  are,  but  fickle  ;  fierce^  but  dastard  ^  vehement  in 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  313 

promise,  but  rotten  in  their  faith.  You  are  a  Roman,  and 
though  I  have  proved  your  truth,  your  very  birth  makes  me 
afraid  of  falsehood." 

*' Madam,"  said  the  page,  "  I  was  but  a  child  when  you  ad- 
mitted me  of  your  service,  and  1  am  yet  only  on  the  verge  of 
manhood.  But  boy  though  I  yet  be,  I  would  brave  the  stout- 
est lance  of  knight,  or  freebooter,  in  defence  of  the  faith  of 
Angelo  Villani,  to  his  liege  lady  and  his  native  land." 

"  Alas  !  alas  !  "  said  the  signora  bitterly,  *'  such  have  been  . 
the  ivords  of  thousands  of  thy   race.     What   have  been  theii  : 
deeds  ?     But  I  will  trust  thee,  as  I  have  trusted  ever.     I  know  * 
that  thou  art  covetous  of  honor,  that  thou  hast  youth's  comely 
and  bright  ambition." 

"  I  am  an  orphan  and  a  bastard,"  said  Angelo  bluntly  ; 
"  and  circumstance  stings  me  sharply  on  to  action.  I  would 
win  my  own  name." 

"Thou  shalt,"  said  the  signora.  " We  shall  live  yet  to  re- 
ward thee.  And  now  be  quick.  Bring  hither  one  of  thy 
page's  suits, — mantle  and  head-gear.  Quick,  I  say,  and  whis- 
per not  to  a  soul  what  1  have  asked  of  thee." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   INMATE   OF    THE  TOWER. 

The  night  slowly  advanced,  and  in  the  highest  chamber  Oi 
that  dark  and  rugged  tower  which  fronted  the  windows  of  the 
Cesarini's  palace  sat  a  solitary  prisoner.  A  single  lamp  l)u;ned 
before  him  on  a  table  of  stone,  and  threw  its  rays  over  an  opi  n 
Bible  and  those  stern  but  fantastic  legends  of  the  prowess  of 
ancient  Rome,  which  the  genius  of  Livy  has  dignified  mio 
history.*  A  chain  hung  pendant  from  the  vault  of  tlie  tower, 
and  confined  the  captive  ;  but  so  as  to  leave  his  limbs  at  suffi- 
cient liberty  to  measure  at  will  the  greater  part  of  the  cell. 
Green  and  damp  were  the  mighty  stones  of  the  walls,  and 
through  a  narrow  aperture,  high  out  of  reacli,  came  the  moon- 
light, and  slept  in  long  shadow  over  the  rude  floor.  A  bed  at 
one  corner  completed  the  furniture  of  the  room.  Such  for 
months  had  been  the  abode  of  the  conqueror  of  the  haughtiest 

*  "  Avea  lihri  as^^ai,  siio  Tito  T.ivio.  sue  storie  di  Roma,  la  Rihbia,  et  altri  lihri  assai.  non 
finava  di  sliidiare."  — f'V/.  rf'/  Co(.  Knnzi\  lib.  ii.  cap.  13.  iSee  transliHiop  to  qiottv  ((} 
600!^  VII.,  p.  294. 


314  RIENZI, 

barons,  and  the  luxurious  dictator  of  the  stateliest  city  of  the 
world  ! 

Care,  and  travel,  and  time,  and  adversity,  had  wrought  their 
change  in  the  person  of  Rienzi.  The  proportions  of  his  frame 
bad  enlarged  from  the  compact  strength  of  earlier  manhood, 
the  clear  paleness  of  his  cheek  was  bespread  with  a  hectic  and 
deceitful  glow.  Even  in  his  present  studies,  intent  as  they 
seemed,  and  genial  though  the  lecture  to  a  mind  enthusiastic- 
even  to  fanaticism,  his  eyes  could  not  rivet  themselves  as  of 
yore  steadily  to  the  page.  The  charm  was  gone  from  the  let- 
ters. Every  now  and  then  he  moved  restlessly,  started,  re-set- 
tled himself,  and  muttered  broken  exclamations  like  a  man 
in  an  anxious  dream.  Anon,  his  gaze  impatiently  turned  up- 
ward, about,  around,  and  there  was  a  strange  and  wandering 
fire  in  those  large,  deep  eyes,  which  might  have  thrilled  the 
beholder  with  a  vague  and  unaccountable  awe. 

Angelo  had  in  the  main  correctly  narrated  the  more  recent 
adventures  of  Rienzi  after  his  fall.  He  had  first  with  Nina 
and  Angelo  betaken  himself  to  Naples,  and  found  a  fallacious 
and  brief  favor  with  Louis,  King  of  Hungary  ;  that  harsh  but 
honorable  monarch  had  refused  to  yield  his  illustrious  guest  to 
the  demands  of  Clement,  but  had  plainly  declared  his  inability 
to  shelter  him  in  safety.  Maintaining  secret  intercourse  with 
his  partisans  at  Rome,  the  fugitive  then  sought  a  refuge  with 
the  Eremites,  sequestered  in  the  lone  recesses  of  the  Monte 
Maiella,  where  in  solitude  and  thought  he  had  passed  a  whole 
year,  save  the  time  consumed  in  his  visit  to  and  return  from 
Florence.  Taking  advantage  of  the  Jubilee  in  Rome,  he  had 
then,  disguised  as  a  pilgrim,  traversed  the  vales  and  mountains 
still  rich  in  the  melancholy  ruins  of  ancient  Rome,  and  enter- 
ing the  city,  his  restless  and  ambitious  spirit  indulged  in  new 
ut  vain  conspiracies  !  *  Excommunicated  a  second  time  by 
the  Cardinal  di  Ceccano,  and  again  a  fugitive,  he  shook  the 
dust  from  his  feet  as  he  left  the  city,  and  raising  his  hands  to- 
wards those  walls,  in  which  are  yet  traced  the  witness  of  the 
Tarquins,  cried  aloud  :  *'  Honored  as  thy  prince — persecuted 
as  thy  victim — Rome,  Rome,  thou  shalt  yet  receive  me  as  thy 
conqueror  !  " 

Still  disguised  as  a  pilgrim,  he  passed  unmolested  through 
Italy  into  the  court  of  the  Emperor  Charles  of  Bohemia,  where 
the  page,  who  had  probably  witnessed,  had  rightly  narrated,  his 
reception.  It  is  doubtful,  however,  whether  the  conduct  of 
the   Emperor  had  been  as  chivalrous  as  appears  by  Angelo's 

*  Rainald,  Ann.  13^0,  N.  4,  E.  5, 


The  last  of  the  tribunes.  3x5 

relation,  or  whether  he  had  not  delivered  Rienzi  to  the  Pontiff's 
emissaries.  At  all  events  it  is  certain  that  from  Prague  to 
Avignon  the  path  of  the  fallen  Tribune  had  been  as  one 
triumph.  His  strange  adventures  ;  his  unbroken  spirit  ;  the 
new  power  that  Intellect  daily  and  wonderfully  excited  over 
the  minds  of  the  rising  generation  ;  the  eloquence  of  Petrarch, 
and  the  common  sympathy  of  the  vulgar  for  fallen  greatness, — 
all  conspired  to  make  Rienzi  the  hero  of  the  age.  Not  a  town 
through  which  he  passed  which  would  not  have  risked  a  siego 
for  his  protection  ;  not  a  house  that  would  not  have  sheltered 
him  ;  not  a  hand  that  would  not  have  struck  in  his  defence. 
Refusing  all  offers  of  aid,  disdaining  all  occasion  of  escape,  in- 
spired by  his  indomitable  hope,  and  his  unalloyed  belief  in  the 
brightness  of  his  own  destinies,  the  Tribune  sought  Avignon — 
and  found  a  dungeon  ! 

These,  his  external  adventures,  are  briefly  and  easily  told  ; 
but  who  shall  tell  what  passed  within  ?  Who  narrate  the  fear- 
ful history  of  the  heart?  Who  paint  the  rapid  changes  of  emo- 
tion and  of  thought — the  indignant  grief — the  stern  dejection — 
the  haughty  disappointment  that  saddened  while  it  never 
destroyed  the  resolve  of  that  great  soul  ?  Who  can  say  what 
must  have  been  endured,  what  meditated,  in  the  hermitage  of 
Maiella ;  on  the  lonely  hills  of  the  perished  empire  it  had  been 
his  dream  to  restore  ;  in  the  courts  of  barbarian  kings  ;  and 
above  all,  on  returning  obscure  and  disguised,  amidst  the 
crowds  of  the  Christian  world,  to  the  seat  of  his  former  power  ! 
What  elements  of  memory,  and  in  what  a  wild  and  fiery  brain  ! 
What  reflections  to  be  conned  in  the  dungeons  of  Avignon,  by 
a  man  who  had  pushed  into  all  the  fervor  of  fanaticism  four 
passions,  a  single  one  of  which  has,  in  excess,  sufficed  to  wreck 
the  strongest  reason — passions,  which  in  themselves  it  is  most 
difficult  to  combine, — the  dreamer — the  aspirant — the  very 
nympholept  of  Freedom,  yet  of  Power — of  Knowledge,  yet  of 
Religion  ! 

''Ay,"  muttered  the  prisoner,  "ay,  these  texts  are  comfort- 
ing— comforting.  The  righteous  are  not  alway  oppressed." 
With  a  long  sigh  he  deliberately  put  aside  the  Bible,  kissed  it 
with  great  reverence,  remained  silent,  and  musing  for  some 
minutes  ;  and  then  as  a  slight  noise  was  heard  at  one  corner  of 
the  cell,  said  softly,  "  Ah,  my  friends,  my  comrades,  the  rats  ! 
it  is  their  hour — I  am  glad  I  put  aside  the  bread  for  them  I  " 
His  eye  brightened  as  it  now  detected  those  strange  and  unso- 
cial animals  venturing  forth  through  a  hole  in  the  wall,  and 
darkening  the  moonshine  on  the  floor,  steal  fearlessly  towards 


3l6  RlENZt, 

him.  He  flung  some  fragments  of  bread  to  them,  and  for  some 
moments  watched  their  gambols  with  a  smile.  **  T^Ianchino, 
the  white-faced  rascal :  he  beats  all  the  rest — ha,  ha  !  he  is  a 
superior  wretch — he  commands  the  tribe,  and  will  venture  the 
first  into  the  trap.  How  will  he  bite  against  the  steel,  the  fine 
fellow !  while  all  the  ignobler  herd  will  gaze  at  him  afar  off, 
and  quake  and  fear,  and  never  help.  Yet,  if  united,  they 
might  gnaw  the  trap  and  release  their  leader  !  Ah,  ye  are  base 
vermin,  ye  eat  my  bread,  yet  if  death  came  upon  me,  ye  would 
riot  on  my  carcass.  Away  ! "  and  clapping  his  hands,  the  chain 
round  him  clanked  harshly,  and  the  noisome  co-mates  of  his 
dungeon  vanished  in  an  instant. 

That  singular  and  eccentric  humor  which  marked  Rienzi, 
and  which  had  seemed  a  buffoonery  to  the  stolid  sullenness  of 
the  Roman  nobles,  still  retained  its  old  expression  in  his  coun- 
tenance, and  he  laughed  loud  as  he  saw  the  vermin  hurry  back 
to  their  hiding-place. 

"  A  little  noise  and  the  clank  of  a  chain — fie,  how  ye  imitate 
mankind  !  "  Again  he  sank  into  silence,  and  then  heavily  and 
listlessly  drawing  towards  him  the  animated  tales  of  Livy,  said, 
*' An  hour  to  midnight  !  Waking  dreams  are  better  than  sleep. 
Well,  history  tells  us  how  men  have  risen — ay,  and  nations 
too — after  sadder  falls  than  that  of  Rienzi  or  of  Rome  !  " 

In  a  few  minutes,  he  was  apparently  absorbed  in  the  lecture; 
so  intent,  indeed,  Avas  he  in  the  task,  that  he  did  not  hear  the 
steps  which  wound  the  spiral  stairs  that  conducted  to  his  cell, 
and  it  was  not  till  the  wards  harshly  grated  beneath  the  huge 
key,  and  the  door  creaked  on  its  hinges,  that  Rienzi,  in  amaze 
at  intrusion  at  so  unwonted  an  hour,  lifted  his  eyes.  The  door 
had  reclosed  on  the  dungeon,  and  by  the  lonely  and  pale  lamp 
he  beheld  a  figure  leaning,  as  for  support,  against  the  wall. 
The  figure  was  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  the  long  cloak  of 
the  day,  which,  aided  by  a  broad  hat,  shaded  by  plumes,  con- 
cealed even  the  features  of  the  visitor. 

Rienzi  gazed  long  and  wistfully. 

**  Speak,"  he  said  at  length,  putting  his  hand  to  his  brow. 
*'  Methinks  either  long  solitude  has  bewildered  me,  or,  sweet 
sir,  your  apparition  dazzles.  I  know  you  not — am  I  sure?" 
and  Rienzi's  hair  bristled  while  he  slowly  rose  ;  "Am  I  sure 
that  it  is  living  man  who  stands  before  me?  Angels  have 
entered  the  prison-house  before  now.  Alas  !  an  angel's  com- 
fort never  was  more  needed." 

The  stranger  answered  not,  but  the  captive  saw  that  his  heart 
heaved  even  beneath  his  cloak;  loud  sobs  choked  his  voice  J 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  317 

at  lewgth,  as  by  a  violent  effort,  he  sprung  forward,  and  sunk 
at  the  Tribune's  feet.  The  disguising  hat,  the  long  mantle  fell 
to  the  ground  ;  it  was  the  face  of  a  woman  that  looked  upward 
through  passionate  and  glazing  tears  ;  the  arms  of  a  woman 
that  clasped  the  prisoner's  knees  !  Rienzi  gazed  mute  and 
motionless  as  stone.  *'  Powers  and  Saints  of  Heaven  !  "  he 
murmured  at  last,  **  do  ye  tempt  me  further  !  Is  it .'' — no, 
no — yet  speak  !  " 

"Beloved — adored  !  do  you  not  know  me  ?** 
"It  is — it  is  !  "  shrieked  Rienzi  wildly,  "it  is  my  Nina — my 
wife — my — "  His  voice  forsook  him.  Clasped  in  each  other's 
arms,  the  unfortunates  for  some  moments  seemed  to  have  lost 
even  the  sense  of  delight  at  their  reunion.  It  was  as  an  uncon- 
scious and  deep  trance,  through  which  something  like  a  dream 
only  faintly  and  indistinctively  stirs. 

At  length  recovered — at  length  restored,  the  first  broken  ex- 
clamations, the  first  wild  caresses  of  joy  over,  Nina  lifted  her 
head  from  her  husband's  bosom,  and  gazed  sadly  on  his  coun- 
tenance. *'  Oh,  what  thou  hast  known  since  we  parted  !  What, 
since  that  hour  when,  borne  on  by  thy  bold  heart  and  wild  des- 
tiny, thou  didst  leave  me  in  the  Imperial  Court,  to  seek  again 
the  diadem  and  find  the  chain  !  Ah  !  why  did  I  heed  thy  com- 
mands ?  Why  suffer  thee  to  depart  alone  ?  How  often  in  thy 
progress  hitherward,  in  doubt,  in  danger,  might  this  bosom 
have  been  thy  resting-place,  and  this  voice  have  whispered  com- 
fort to  thy  soul  ?  Thou  art  well,  my  lord — my  Cola !  Thy 
pulse  beats  quicker  than  of  old — thy  brow  is  furrowed.  Ah  .' 
tell  me  thou  art  well !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Rienzi  mechanically.  "  Methinks  so  !  The 
mind  diseased  blunts  all  sense  of  bodily  decay.  Well — yes  ! 
And  thou — thou,  at  least,  art  not  changed,  save  to  maturer 
beauty.  The  glory  of  the  laurel-wreath  has  not  faded  from 
thy  brow.  Thou  shalt  yet — "  then  breaking  off  abruptly  : 
"  Rome — tell  me  of  Rome !  And  thou  !  how  camest  thou 
hither  ?  Ah  !  perhaps  my  doom  is  sealed,  and  in  their  mercy 
they  have  vouchsafed  that  I  should  see  thee  once  more  before 
the  deathsman  blinds  me.  I  remember,  it  is  the  grace  vouch- 
safed to  malefactors.  When  /was  a  lord  of  life  and  death,  I 
too  permitted  the  meanest  criminal  to  say  farewell  to  those  he 
loved." 

"No,  not  so.  Cola  !"  exclaimed  Nina,  putting  her  hand 
before  his  mouth.  "I  bring  thee  more  auspicious  tidings. 
To-morrow  thou  art  to  be  heard.  The  favor  of  the  Ccurt  is 
propitiated.     Thou  wilt  be  acquitted," 


3l8  RiENZky 

"  Ha  !  speak  again." 

**  Thou  wilt  be  heard,  my  Cola — thou  must  be  acquitted !  ** 

"  And  Rome  be  free  !     Great  God,  I  thank  Thee  !  " 

The  Tribune  sank  on  his  knees,  and  never  had  his  heart,  in 
his  youngest  and  purest  hour,  poured  forth  thanksgiving  more 
fervent,  yet  less  selfish.  When  he  rose  again  the  whole  man 
seemed  changed.  His  eye  had  resumed  its  earlier  expressions 
of  deep  and  serene  command.  Majesty  sate  upon  his  brow. 
The  sorrows  of  the  exile  were  forgotten.  In  his  sanguine  and 
rapid  thoughts  he  stood  once  more  the  guardian  of  his 
country, — and  its  sovereign  ! 

Nina  gazed  upon  him  with  that  intense  and  devoted  worship 
which  steeped  her  vainer  and  her  harder  qualities  in  all  the 
fondness  of  the  softest  woman.  "Such,"  thought  she,  "  was 
his  look  eight  years  ago,  when  he  left  my  maiden  chamber,  full 
of  the  mighty  schemes  which  liberated  Rome ;  such  his  look, 
when  at  the  dawning  sun  he  towered  amidst  the  crouching 
barons,  and  the  kneeling  population  of  the  city  he  had  made 
his  throne  !  " 

"  Yes,  Nina  !  **  said  Rienzi,  as  he  turned  and  caught  her  eye. 
"  My  soul  tells  me  that  my  hour  is  at  hand.  If  they  try  me 
openly,  they  dare  not  convict  ;  if  they  acquit  me,  they  dare  not 
but  restore.     To-morrow,  saidst  thou,  to-morrow  ?  " 

*'  To-morrow,  Rienzi;  be  prepared  !  " 

*'  I  am — for  triumph  !  But  tell  me  what  happy  chance 
brought  thee  to  Avignon  ?" 

"  Chance,  Cola  !  "  said  Nina,  with  reproachful  tenderness. 
"  Could  I  know  that  thou  wert  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Pontiff, 
and  linger  in  idle  security  at  Prague  ?  Even  at  the  Emperor's 
Court  thou  hadst  thy  partisans  and  favorers.  Gold  was  easily 
procured.  I  repaired  to  Florence,  disguised  my  name,  and 
came  hither  to  plot,  to  scheme,  to  win  thy  liberty,  or  to  die  with 
thee.  Ah  !  did  not  thy  heart  tell  thee  that  morning  and  night 
the  eyes  of  thy  faithful  Nina  gazed  upon  this  gloomy  tower  , 
and  that  one  friend,  humble  though  she  be,  never  could  for- 
sake thee  !  '* 

**  Sweet  Nina  !  Yet — yet — at  Avignon  power  yields  not  to 
beauty  without  reward.  Remember,  there  is  a  worse  death 
than  the  pause  of  life." 

Nina  turned  pale.  "  Fear  not,"  she  said,  with  a  low  but 
determined  voice,  "fear  not,  that  men's  lips  should  say  Rienzi's 
wife  delivered  him.  None  in  this  corrupted  Court  know  that 
\  am  thy  wife." 

**  WofiiatH"  fiftid  th«  THbwt^e  »»temly{  ''thy  X\p%  tlude  Iht 


THE  LAST  Of  tttE  TktBUNES.  319 

atiswer  I  would  seek.  In  our  degenerate  time  and  land,  tliy 
sex  and  ours  forget  too  basely  what  foulness  writes  a  leprosy 
in  the  smallest  stain  upon  a  matron's  honor.  Tltnt  thy  heart 
would  never  wrong  me,  1  believe ;  but  if  thy  \\  eakness,  thy 
fear  of  my  death,  should  wrong  me,  thou  art  a  bittf^er  foe  to 
Rienzithan  the  swords  of  the  Colonna.     Nina,  speak  !  " 

"Oh,  that  my  soul  could  speak,"  answered  Nina.  "Thy 
words  are  music  to  me,  and  not  a  thought  of  mine  but  echoes 
them.  Could  I  touch  this  hand,  could  I  meet  that  eye,  and 
not  know  that  death  were  dearer  to  thee  than  shame  ?  Rienzi, 
when  last  we  parted,  in  sadness,  yet  in  hope,  what  were  thy 
words  to  me  ?  " 

"I  remember  them  well,"  returned  the  Tribune  :  "  *I  leave 
thee,'  I  said,  '  to  keep  alive  at  the  Emperor's  Court^  by  thy 
genius,  the  Great  Cause.  Thou  hast  youth  and  beauty,  and 
courts  have  lawless  and  ruffian  suitors.  I  give  thee  no  caution; 
it  were  beneath  thee  and  me.  But  I  leave  thee  the  power  oc 
death.'     And  with  that,  Nina — " 

*'  Thy  hands  tremblingly  placed  in  mine  this  dagger.  I  live — 
need  I  say  more  ? " 

"  My  noble  and  beloved  Nina,  it  is  enough.  Keep  the 
dagger  yet.*' 

"  Yes  ;  till  we  meet  in  the  Capitol  of  Rome  !  " 

A  slight  tap  was  heard  at  the  door ;  Nina  regained,  in  an 
instant,  her  disguise. 

"It  is  on  the  stroke  of  midnight,"  said  the  gaoler,  appearing 
at  the  threshold. 

"  I  come,"  said  Nina. 

"  And  thou  hast  to  prepare  thy  thoughts,"  she  whispered  to 
Rienzi :  **  arm  all  thy  glorious  intellect.  Alas  !  is  it  again  we 
part  ?    How  my  heart  sinks  !  " 

The  presence  of  the  gaoler  at  the  threshold  broke  the  bitter- 
ness of  parting  by  abridging  it.  The  false  page  pressed  hei 
lips  on  the  prisoner's  hand,  and  left  the  cell. 

The  gaoler,  lingering  behind  for  a  moment,  placed  a  parch- 
ment on  the  table.  It  was  the  sunmions  from  the  court 
appointed  for  the  trial  of  the  Tribune. 


520  RIENZi, 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  SCENT  DOES  NOT  LIE. — THE  PRIEST  AND  THE  SOLDIER. 

On  descending  tlie  stairs  Nina  was  met  by  Alvarez. 

"Fair  page,"  said  the  Spaniard  gaily,  "thy  name,  thou  tt-llest 
me,  is  ViUani  ? — Angelo  Villani — why,  I  know  thy  kinsman, 
methinks.  Vouchsafe,  young  master,  to  enter  this  chamber, 
and  drink  a  night-cup  to  thy  lady's  health  ;  I  would  fain  learn 
tidings  of  my  old  friends." 

"  At  another  time,"  answered  the  false  Angelo,  drawing  the 
cloak  closer  round  her  face  ;  "  it  is  late — I  am  hurried." 

"  Nay,"  said  the  Spaniard,  "  you  escape  me  not  so  easily  "; 
and  he  caught  firm  hold  of  the  page's  shoulder. 

"  Unhand  me,  sir  !  "  said  Nina  haughtily,  and  almost  weep- 
ing, for  her  strong  nerves  were  yet  unstrung.  "  Gaoler,  at  thy 
peril — unbar  the  gates." 

"  So  hot,"  said  Alvarez,  surprised  at  so  great  a  waste  of  dig- 
nity in  a  page  ;  "  nay,  I  meant  not  to  offend  thee.  May  I  wait 
on  thy  pageship  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Ay,  to-morrow,"  said  Nina,  eager  to  escape. 

"  And  meanwhile,"  said  Alvarez,  "  I  will  accompany  thee 
home  ;  we  can  confer  by  the  way." 

So  saying,  without  regarding  the  protestations  of  the  supposed 
page,  he  passed  with  Nina  into  the  open  air.  "Your  lady," 
said  he  carelessly,  "  is  wondrous  fair ;  her  lightest  will  is  law 
to  the  greatest  noble  of  Avignon.  Methinks  she  is  of  Naples — 
is  it  so  ?     Art  thou  dumb,  sweet  youth  .'*  " 

The  page  did  not  answer,  but  with  a  step  so  rapid  that  it 
almost  put  the  slow  Spaniard  out  of  breath,  hastened  along  the 
narrow  space  between  the  tower  and  the  palace  of  the  Signora 
Cesarini,  nor  could  all  the  efforts  of  Alvarez  draw  forth  a  single 
syllable  from  his  reluctant  companion,  till  they  reached  the 
gates  of  the  palace,  and  he  found  himself  discourteously  left 
without  the  walls. 

**  A  plague  on  the  boy  !  "  said  he,  biting  his  lips  ;  "  if  the 
Cardinal  thrive  as  well  as  his  servant,  by're  Lady,  Monsignore 
is  a  happy  man  !  " 

By  no  means  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  an  interview  with 
Ali)ornoz,  who,  like  most  able  men,  valued  the  talents  of  those 
he  employed  exactly  in  proportion  to  their  success,  the  Spaniard 
slowly  returned  home.  With  the  license  accorded  to  him  he 
entered  the  Cardinal's  chamber  somewhat  abruptly,  and  per- 


THE    LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  32^ 

Ceived  him  in  earnest  conversation  with  a  cavalier,  whose  long 
moustache,  curled  upward,  and  the  bright  cuirass  v/orn  under- 
neath his  mantle,  seemed  to  betoken  him  of  martial  profession. 
Pleased  with  the  respite  Alvarez  hastily  withdrew  :  and,  in  fact, 
the  Cardinal's  thoughts  at  that  moment,  and  for  that  night, 
were  bent  upon  other  subjects  than  those  of  love. 

The  interruption  served,  however,  to  shorten  the  conversa- 
tion between  Albornoz  and  his  guest.     The  latter  rose. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  buckling  on  a  short  and  broad  rapier, 
which  he  laid  aside  during  the  interview,  "  I  think,  my  Lord 
Cardinal,  you  encourage  me  to  consider  that  our  negotiation 
stands  a  fair  chance  of  a  prosperous  close.  Ten  thousand 
florins,  and  my  brother  quits  Viterbo,  and  launches  the  thun- 
derbolt of  the  Company  on  the  lands  of  Rimini.     On  your  part — " 

*'  On  my  part  it  is  agreed,"  said  the  Cardinal,  "that  the  army 
of  the  Church  interferes  not  with  the  course  of  your  brother's 
arms — there  is  peace  between  us.  One  warrior  understands 
another !" 

*'  And  the  word  of  Giles  d'Albornoz,  son  of  the  royal  race  of 
Aragon,  is  a  guarantee  for  the  faith  of  a  Cardinal,"  replied  the 
cavalier,  with  a  smile.  "  It  is,  iry  lord,  in  yoMX  former  quality 
that  we  treat." 

"  There  is  my  right  hand,"  answered  Albornoz,  too  polite  to 
heed  the  insinuation.  The  cavalier  raised  it  respectfully  to  his 
lips,  and  his  armed  tread  was  soon  heard  descending  the  stairs. 

"  Victory,"  cried  Albornoz,  tossing  his  arms  aloof ;  *'  Victory. 
now  thou  art  mine  '  " 

With  that  he  rose  hastily,  deposited  his  papers  in  an  iron 
<:hest,  and  opening  a  concealed  door  behind  the  arras,  entered 
A  chamber  that  rather  resembled  a  monk's  cell  than  the  apart- 
ment of  a  prince.  Over  a  mean  pallet  hung  a  sword,  a  dagger, 
and  a  rude  image  of  the  Virgin.  Without  summoning  Alvarez, 
the  Cardinal  unrobed,  and  in  a  few  moments  was  asleep. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

VAUCLUSE   AND    ITS    GENIUS     LOCI. — OLD     ACQUAINTANCE     RE- 

NEWED. 

The  next  day  at  early  noon  the  cavalier,  whom  our  last 
chapter  presented  to  the  reader,  was  seen  mounted  on  a  strong 
Norman  horse,  winding  his  way  slowly  along  a  green  and 
pleasant  path  sonx.  miles  from  Avignon.     At  length  he  found 


j2fi  RIFNft, 

himself  in  a  wild  and  romantic  valley,  through  wh'ch  wandered 
that  delightful  river  whose  name  the  verse  of  Petrarch  has 
given  to  so  beloved  a  fame.  Sheltered  by  rocks,  and  in  this 
part  winding  through  the  greenest  banks,  enamelled  with  a 
thousand  wild  flowers  and  water-weeds,  went  the  crystal  Sorgia. 
Advancing  farther,  the  landscape  assumed  a  more  sombre  and 
sterile  aspect.  The  valley  seemed  enclosed  or  shut  in  by  fan- 
tastic rocks  of  a  thousand  shapes,  down  which  dashed  and  glit- 
tered a  thousand  rivulets.  And,  in  the  very  wildest  of  the  scene, 
the  ground  suddenly  opened  into  a  quaint  and  cultivated  gar- 
den, through  which,  amidst  a  profusion  of  foliage,  was  seen  a 
small  and  lonely  mansion, — the  hermitage  of  the  place.  The 
horseman  was  in  the  valley  of  the  Vaucluse ;  and  before  his 
eye  lay  the  garden  and  the  house  of  Petrarch  !  Carelessly, 
however,  his  eye  scanned  the  consecrated  spot  ;  and  uncon- 
sciously it  rested,  for  a  moment,  upon  a  solitary  figure  seated 
musingly  by  the  margin  of  the  river.  A  large  dog  at  the  side 
of  the  noonday  idler  barked  at  the  horseman  as  he  rode  on. 
"  A  brave  animal  and  a  deep  bay  !  "  thought  the  traveller  ;  to 
him  the  dog  seemed  an  object  much  more  interesting  than  its 
master.  And  so, — as  the  crowd  of  little  men  pass  unheeding 
and  unmoved  those  in  whom  Posterity  shall  acknowledge  the 
landmarks  of  their  age, — the  horseman  turned  his  glance  from 
the  Poet  ! 

Thrice  blessed  name!  Immortal  Florentine!*  not  as  the 
lover,  nor  even  as  the  poet,  do  I  bow  before  thy  consecrated 
memory — venerating  thee  as  one  it  were  sacrilege  to  introduce 
in  this  unworthy  page,  save  by  name  and  as  a  shadow ;  but  as 
the  first  who  ever  asserted  to  people  and  to  prince  the  august 
majesty  of  Letters  ;  who  claimed  to  Genius  the  preroga- 
tive to  influence  States,  to  control  opinion,  to  hold  an  em- 
pire over  the  hearts  of  men,  and  prepare  events  by  ani- 
mating passion,  and  guiding  thought  !  What  (though  but 
feebly  felt  and  dimly  seen) — what  do  we  yet  owe  to  Thee  if 
Knowledge  be  now  a  Power  ;  if  mind  be  a  Prophet  and  a  Fate, 
foretelling  and  foredooming  the  things  to  come  !  From  the 
greatest  to  the  least  of  us,  to  whom  the  pen  is  at  once  a  sceptre 
and  a  sword,  the  low  born  Florentine  has  been  the  arch-mes- 
senger to  smooth  the  way  and  prepare  the  welcome.  Yes  ! 
even  the  meanest  of  the  aftercomers — even  he  who  now  vents 
his  gratitude — is  thine  everlasting  debtor  !  Thine,  how  largely 
is  the  honor,  if  his  labors,  humble  though  they  be,  find  an  audi- 

*  I  need  scarcely  say  that  it  is  his  origin,  not  his  actual  birth,  which  entitles  us  to  t«ni 
f^trarch  a  Florentine. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  32? 

ence  wherever  literature  is  known  ;  preaching  in  remotest  lands 
the  moral  of  forgotten  revolutions,  and  scattering  in  the  palace 
and  the  market-place  the  seeds  that  shall  ripen  into  fruit  when 
the  hand  of  the  sower  shall  be  dust,  and  his  very  name,  per- 
haps, be  lost  !  For  few,  alas  !  are  they,  whose  names  may  out- 
live the  grave  ;  but  the  thoughts  of  every  man  who  writes  are 
made  undying  ;  others  appropriate,  advance,  exalt  them  ;  and 
millions  of  minds  unknown,  undreamt  of,  are  required  to  pro- 
duce the  immortality  of  one  ! 

Indulging  meditations  very  different  from  those  which  the 
idea  of  Petrarch  awakens  in  a  later  time,  the  cavalier  pursued 
his  path. 

The  valley  was  long  left  behind,  and  the  way  grew  more 
and  more  faintly  tsaced,  until  it  terminated  in  a  wood,  through 
whose  tangled  boughs  the  sunlight  broke  playfully.  At  length, 
the  wood  opened  into  a  wide  glade,  from  which  rose  a  pre- 
cipitous ascent,  crowned  with  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle. 
The  traveller  dismounted,  led  his  horse  up  the  ascent,  and, 
gaining  the  ruins,  left  his  steed  within  one  of  the  roofless 
chambers,  overgrown  with  the  longest  grass  and  a  profusion  of 
wild  shrubs  ;  thence  ascending,  with  some  toil,  a  narrow  and 
broken  staircase,  he  found  himself  in  a  small  room,  less  de- 
cayed than  the  rest,  of  which  the  roof  and  floor  were  yet  whole. 

Stretched  on  the  ground  in  his  cloak,  and  leaning  his  head 
thoughtfully  on  his  hand,  was  a  man  of  tall  stature,  and  mid- 
dle age.  He  lifted  himself  on  his  arm  with  great  alacrity  as 
the  cavalier  entered. 

"Well,  Brettone,  I  have  counted  the  hours — what  tidings?" 

"Albornoz  consents." 

"  Glad  news  1  Thou  givest  me  new  life.  Pardieu,  I  shall 
breakfast  all  the  better  for  this,  my  brother.  Hast  thou  remem- 
bered that  I  am  famishing  ?  " 

Brettone  drew  from  beneath  his  cloak  a  sufficiently  huge 
flask  of  wine,  and  a  small  panier,  tolerably  well  filled  ;  the  in- 
mate of  the  tower  threw  himself  upon  the  provant  with  great 
devotion.  And  both  the  soldiers,  for  such  they  were,  stretched 
at  length  on  the  ground,  regaled  themselves  vv^ith  considerable 
zest,  talking  hastily  and  familiarly  between  every  mouthful. 

*'  I  say,  Brettone,  thou  playest  unfairly ;  thou  hast  already 
devoured  more  than  half  the  pasty  :  push  it  hitherward.  And 
so  the  Cardinal  consents  !  What  manner  of  man  is  he  1  Able 
as  they  say  ?  " 

"Quick»  sharp,  and  earnest^  with  an  «ye  <?f  fire,  few  word^ 
ftnd  eomes  t9  V^%  point." 


|24  RIENZI, 

**  Unlike  a  priest  then  ;  a  good  brigand  spoilt.  What  hasX 
thou  heard  of  the  force  he  heads  ?  Ho,  not  so  fast  with  the 
wine." 

"  Scanty  at  present.     He  relies  on  recruits  throughout  Italy." 

"  What  his  designs  for  Rome  ?  There,  my  brother,  there 
tends  my  secret  soul  !  As  for  these  petty  towns  and  petty  ty- 
rants, I  care  not  how  they  fall,  or  by  whom.  But  the  Pope 
must  not  return  to  Rome.  Rome  must  be  mine.  The  city  of 
a  new  empire,  the  conquest  of  a  new  Attila  !  There,  every 
circumstance  combines  m  my  favor !  the  absence  of  the  Pope, 
the  weakness  of  the  middle  class,  the  poverty  of  the  populace, 
the  imbecile  though  ferocious  barbarism  of  the  barons,  have 
long  concurred  to  render  Rome  the  most  facile,  while  the  most 
glorious  conquest !  " 

"  My  brother,  pray  Heaven  your  ambition  do  not  wreck  yoa 
at  last ;  you  are  ever  losing  sight  of  the  land.  Surely  with  the 
immense  wealth  we  are  acquiring,  we  may — " 

"  Aspire  to  something  greater  than  Free  Companions,  gen- 
erals to-day,  and  adventurers  to-morrow.  Rememberest  thou, 
how  the  Norman  sword  won  Sicily,  and  how  the  bastard  Wil- 
liam converted  on  the  field  of  Hastings  his  baton  into  a  scep- 
tre? I  tell  thee,  Brettone,  that  this  loose  Italy  has  crowns  on 
the  hedge  that  a  dexterous  hand  may  carry  off  at  the  point? 
of  the  lance.  My  course  is  taken,  I  will  form  the  fairest  army 
in  Italy  and  with  it  I  will  win  a  throne  in  the  Capitol.  Fool  that 
I  was  six  years  ago  !  Instead  of  deputing  that  mad  dolt  Pepin 
of  Minorbino,  had  I  myself  deserted  the  Hungarian,  and  re- 
paired with  my  soldiery  to  Rome,  the  fall  of  Rienzi  would 
have  been  followed  by  the  rise  of  Montreal.  Pepin  was  out- 
witted, and  threw  away  the  prey  after  he  had  hunted  it  down. 
The  lion  shall  not  again  trust  the  chase  to  the  jackal  !  " 

Walter,  thou  speakest  of  the  fate  of  Rienzi,  let  it  warn 
thee  !  " 

"  Rienzi !  "  replied  Montreal  ;  "  I  know  the  man  !  In 
peaceful  times  or  with  an  honest  people  he  would  have  founded 
a  great  dynasty.  But  he  dreamt  of  laws  and  liberty  for  men 
who  despise  the  first  and  will  not  protect  the  last.  We,  of  a 
harder  race,  know  that  a  new  throne  must  be  built  by  the 
feudal  and  not  the  civil  system  ;  and  into  the  city  we  must 
transport,  the  camp.  It  is  by  the  multitude  that  the  proud  Trib- 
une gained  power, — by  the  multitude  he  lost  it ;  it  is  by 
the  sword  I  will  win  it,  and  by  the  sword  will  I  keep  it !  " 

'*  Rienzi  was  too  cruel  ;  he  should  not  have  incensed  the 
barons,"  said   Brettone.  about    to    finish    the   flask,  when   the 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  325 

strong  hand  of  his  brother  plucked  it  from  him^  And  antici- 
pated the  design. 

"Pooh,"  said  Montreal,  finishing  the  draught  with  a  long  sigh, 
"  he  was  not  cruel  enough.  He  sought  only  to  be  just,  and  not 
to  distinguish  between  noble  and  peasant.  He  should  have  dis- 
tinguished !  He  should  have  exterminated  the  nobles  root  and 
branch.     But  this  no  Italian  can  do.     This  is  reserved  for  me.  * 

**  Thou  wouldst  not  butcher  all  the  best  blood  of  Rome  ?  " 

"  Butcher  !  No,  but  I  would  seize  their  lands,  and  endciv,' 
with  them  a  new  nobility,  the  hardy  and  fierce  nobility  of  the 
North,  who  well  know  how  to  guard  their  prince,  and  will 
guard  him,  as  the  fountain  of  their  own  power.  Enough  of 
this  now.    And  talking  of  Rienzi,  rots  he  still  in  his  dungeon  ?" 

"  Why,  this  morning,  ere  I  left,  I  heard  strange  news.  The 
town  was  astir  ;  groups  in  every  corner.  They  said  that  Rien- 
zi's  trial  was  to  be  to-day,  and  from  the  names  of  the  judges 
chosen,  it  is  suspected  that  acquittal  is  already  determined  on." 

"  Ha  !  thou  shouldst  have  told  me  of  this  before." 

**  Should  he  be  restored  to  Rome,  would  it  militate  against 
thy  plans?" 

**  Humph  !  I  know  not — deep  thought  and  dexterous  man- 
agement would  be  needed.  I  would  fain  not  leave  this  spot  till 
i  hear  what  is  decided  on." 

"  Surely,  Walter,  it  would  have  been  wiser  and  safer  to  have 
stayed  with  thy  soldiery,  and  intrusted  me  with  the  absolute 
conduct  of  this  affair." 

"  Not  so,"  answered  Montreal  ;  "  thou  art  a  bold  fellow 
enough,  and  a  cunning — but  my  head  in  these  matters  is  bet- 
ter than  thine.  Besides,"  continued  the  knight,  lowering 
his  voice,  and  shading  his  face,  *'  I  had  vowed  a  pilgrimage 
to  the  beloved  river,  and  the  old  trysting-place.  Ah  me  ! — ■ 
But  all  this,  Brettone,  thou  understandest  not — let  it  pass.  As 
for  my  safety,  since  we  have  come  to  this  amnesty  with  Albor- 
noz,  I  fear  but  little  danger  even  if  discovered  ;  besides,  I 
want  the  florins.  There  are  those  in  this  country,  Germans, 
^'ho  could  eat  an  Italian  army  at  a  meal,  whom  I  would  fain 
engage,  and  their  leaders  want  earnest-money — tiie  griping 
knaves !     How  are  the  Cardinal's  florins  to  be  paid  ?" 

"  Half  now — half  when  the  troops  are  before  Rimini  !  " 

"Rimini  !  the  thought  whets  my  sword.  Rememberest  thou 
how  that  accursed  Malatesta  drove  me  from  Aversa,*  broke  up 

♦This  Malatesta,  a  signior  of  illustrious  family,  was  one  of  the  most  skilful  warriors  in 
Italy.  He  and  his  brother  Galentto  had  been  raised  to  the  joint-tyranny  of  Rimini  by  the 
voice  of  its  citizens.  After  being  long  the  foes  of  the  Chiirch,  they  were  ultimately 
Samed  as  its  captains  by  the  Cardinal  Albornog. 


326  RIEN2I. 

my  camp,  and  made  me  render  to  him  all  my  booty  ?  There  fell 
the  work  of  years  !  But  for  that  my  banner  now  would  be  float- 
ing over  St.  Angelo.  I  will  pay  back  the  debt  by  fire  and  sword, 
ere  the  summer  has  shed  its  leaves." 

The  fair  countenance  of  Montreal  grew  terrible  as  he  uttered 
these  words  ;  his  hands  griped  the  handle  of  his  sword,  and 
his  strong  frame  heaved  visibly ;  tokens  of  the  fierce  and 
unsparing  passions,  by  the  aid  of  which  a  life  of  rapine  and 
revenge  had  corrupted  a  nature  originally  full  no  less  of  the 
mercy  than  the  courage  of  Provengal  chivalry. 

Such  was  the  fearful  man  who  now  (the  wildness  of  his 
youth  sobered,  and  his  ambition  hardened  and  concentered) 
was  the  rival  with  Rienzi  for  the  mastery  of  Rome. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE     CROWD. — THE     TRIAL. — THE      VERDICT. — THE     SOLDIER 

AND    THE    PAGE. 

It  was  on  the  following  evening  that  a  considerable  crowd 
had  gathered  in  the  streets  of  Avignon.  It  was  the  second 
day  of  the  examination  of  Rienzi,  and  with  every  moment  was 
expected  the  announcement  of  the  verdict.  Amongst  the 
foreigners  of  all  countries  assembled  in  that  seat  of  the  papal 
splendor,  the  interest  was  intense.  The  Italians,  even  of  the 
highest  rank,  were  in  favor  of  the  Tribune,  the  French  against 
him.  As  for  the  good  townspeople  of  Avignon  themselves, 
they  felt  but  little  excitement  in  anything  that  did  not  bring 
money  into  their  pockets  ;  and  if  it  had  been  put  to  the  secret 
vote,  no  doubt  there  would  have  been  a  vast  majority  for 
burning  the  prisoner,  as  a  marketable  speculation  ! 

Amongst  the  crowd  was  a  tall  man  in  a  plain  and  rusty  suit 
of  armor,  but  with  an  air  of  knightly  bearing  which  somewhat 
belied  the  coarseness  of  his  mail ;  he  wore  no  helmet,  but  a 
small  morion  of  black  leather,  with  a  long  projecting  shade, 
much  used  by  wayfarers  in  the  hot  climates  of  the  south.  A 
black  patch  covered  nearly  the  whole  of  one  cheek,  and  alto- 
gether he  bore  the  appearance  of  a  grim  soldier,  with  whom 
war  had  dealt  harshly,  both  in  purse  and  person. 

Many  were  the  jests  at  the  shabby  swordsman's  expense  with 
which  that  lively  population  amused  their  impatience;  and 
though  the  shade  ri  the  morion  concealed  his  eyes,  ^n  arch 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  327 

and  merry  smile  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth  showed  that 
he  could  take  a  jest  at  himself. 

*'Well,"  said  one  of  the  crowd  (a  rich  Milanese),  "I  am  of 
a  State  that  was  free,  and  I  trust  the  People's  man  will  have 
justice  shown  him," 

"Amen,"  said  a  grave  Florentine. 

"They  say,"  whispered  a  young  student  from  Paris  to  a 
learned  doctor  of  laws  with  whom  he  abode,  "that  his  defence 
has  been  a  masterpiece." 

"He  hath  taken  no  degrees,"  replied  the  doctor  doubtingly. 
"Ho,  friend,  why  dost  thou  push  me  so?  thou  hast  rent  my 
robe." 

This  was  said  to  a  minstrel  or  jongleur,  who,  with  a  small 
lute  strung  round  him,  was  making  his  way,  with  great  earnest- 
ness, through  the  throng. 

"I  beg  pardon,  worthy  sir,"  said  the  minstrel  ;  "but  this  is 
a  scene  to  be  sung  of!  Centuries  hence;  ay,  and  inlands 
remote,  legend  and  song  will  tell  the  fortunes  of  Cola  di  Ri- 
enzi,  the  friend  of  Petrarch  and  the  Tribune  of  Rome  ! " 

The  young  French  student  turned  quickly  round  to  the 
minstrel,  with  a  glow  on  his  pale  face  ;  not  sharing  the  general 
sentiments  of  his  countrymen  against  Rienzi,  he  felt  that  it  was 
an  era  in  the  world  when  a  minstrel  spoke  thus  of  the  heroes 
of  intellect — not  of  war. 

At  this  time  the  tall  soldier  was  tapped  impatiently  on  the 
back, 

"I  pray  thee,  great  sir,"  said  a  sharp  and  imperious  voice, 
"to  withdraw  that  tall  bulk  of  thine  a  liitle  on  one  side — I 
cannot  see  through  thee ;  and  I  would  fain  my  eyes  were 
among  the  first  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Rienzi  as  he  passes  from 
the  court." 

"  Fair  sir  page,"  replied  the  soldier  good-humoredly,  as  he 
made  way  for  Angelo  Villani,  "thou  wilt  not  always  find  that 
way  in  the  world  is  won  by  commanding  the  strong.  When 
thou  art  older  thou  wilt  beard  the  weak,  and  the  strong  thou 
wilt  wheedle." 

"I  must  change  my  nature,  then,"  answered  Angelo  (who 
was  of  somewhat  small  stature,  and  not  yet  come  to  his  full 
growth),  trying  still  to  raise  himself  above  the  heads  of  the 
crowd. 

The  soldier  looked  at  him  approvingly  ;  and  as  he  looked  he 
sighed,  and  his  lij)s  worked  with  some  str.inge  emotion. 

'Thou  speakest  well,"  said  he.  after  a  j)ause.      "Pardon  me 
the   rudeness  of  the  question;  but   art   ihou  of  Italy  .^     Thy 


328  RIENZI, 

tongue  savOrs  of  the  Roman  dialect ;  yet  I  have  seen  linea» 
ments  like  thine  on  this  side  the  Alps." 

"It  may  be,  good  fellow,"  said  the  page  haughtily;  "but  I 
thank  heaven  that  1  am  of  Rome." 

At  this  moment  a  loud  shout  burst  from  that  part  of  the 
crowd  nearest  the  court.  The  sound  of  trumpets  again  hushed 
the  throng  into  deep  and  breathless  silence,  while  the  Pope's 
guards,  ranged  along  the  space  conducting  from  the  court, 
drew  themselves  up  more  erect,  and  fell  a  step  or  two  back 
upon  the  crowd. 

As  the  trumpet  ceased  the  voice  of  a  herald  was  heard,  but 
it  did  not  penetrate  within  several  yards  of  the  spot  where 
Angelo  and  the  soldier  stood  ;  and  it  was  only  by  a  mighty 
shout  that  in  a  moment  circled  through,  and  was  echoed  back 
by,  the  wide  multitude ;  by  the  waving  of  kerchiefs  from  the 
windows;  by  broken  ejaculations,  which  were  caught  up  from 
lip  to  lip,  that  the  page  knew  that  Rienzi  was  acquitted. 

"  I  would  I  could  see  his  face  !  "  sighed  the  page  querulously. 

"And  thou  shalt,"  said  the  soldier;  and  he  caught  up  the 
boy  in  his  arms,  and  pressed  on  with  the  strength  of  a  giant, 
parting  the  living  stream  from  right  to  left,  as  he  took  his  way  to 
a  place  near  the  guards,  and  by  which  Rienzi  was  sure  to  pass. 

The  page,  half-pleased,  half-indignant,  struggled  a  little, 
but  finding  it  in  vain,  consented  tacitly  to  what  he  felt  an 
outrage  on  his  dignity. 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  soldier,  "thou  art  the  first  I  ever 
willingly  raised  above  myself;  and  I  do  it  now  for  the  sake  of 
thy  fair  face,  which  reminds  me  of  one  I  loved." 

But  these  last  words  were  spoken  low,  and  the  boy,  in  his 
anxiety  to  see  the  hero  of  Rome,  did  not  hear  or  heed  them. 
Presently  Rienzi  came  by  ;  two  gentlemen  of  the  Pope's  own 
following  walked  by  his  side.  He  moved  slowly,  amidst  the 
greetings  and  clamor  of  the  crowd,  looking  neither  to  the  right 
nor  left.  His  bearing  was  firm  and  collected,  and,  save  by  the 
flush  of  his  cheek,  there  was  no  external  sign  of  joy  or  excite- 
ment. Flowers  dropped  from  every  balcony  on  his  path  ;  and 
just  when  he  came  to  a  broader  space,  where  the  ground  was 
somewhat  higher,  and  where  he  was  in  fuller  view  of  the 
houses  around,  he  paused,  and,  uncovering,  acknowledged  the 
homage  he  had  received,  with  a  look — a  gesture — which  each 
who  beheld  never  forgot.  It  haunted  even  that  gay  and 
thoughtless  court,  when  the  last  tale  of  Rienzi's  life  reached 
their  ears.  And  Angelo,  clinging  then  round  that  soldier's 
neck,  recalled — but  we  must  not  anticipate. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  329 

It  was  not,  however,  to  the  dark  tower  that  Rienzi  returned. 
His  home  was  prepared  at  the  palace  of  the  Cardinal  d'Aibornoz. 
The  next  day  he  was  admitted  to  the  Pope's  presence,  and  on 
the  evening  of  that  day  he  was  proclaimed  Senator  of  Rome. 

Meanwhile  the  soldier  had  placed  Angelo  on  the  ground  ; 
and  as  the  page  faltered  out  nocourteous  thanks,  he  interrupted 
bim  in  a  sad  and  kind  voice,  the  tone  of  which  struck  the  page 
'otcibly,  so  little  did  it  suit  the  rough  and  homely  appearance 
of  the  man. 

"  We  part,"  he  said,  "as  strangers,  fair  boy  ;  and  since  thou 
sayest  thou  art  of  Rome,  there  is  no  reason  why  my  heart 
should  have  warmed  to  thee  as  it  has  done  ;  yet  if  ever  thou 
wantest  a  friend,  seek  him  " — and  the  soldier's  voice  sunk  into 
a  whisper — "  in  Walter  de  Montreal." 

Ere  the  page  recovered  his  surprise  at  that  redoubted  name, 
which  his  earliest  childhood  had  been  taught  to  dread,  the 
Knight  of  St.  John  had  vanished  amongst  the  crowd. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ALBORNOZ   AND    NINA. 

But  the  eyes  which,  above  all  others,  thirsted  for  a  glimpse 
of  the  released  captive  were  forbidden  that  delight.  Alone  in 
her  chamber  Nina  awaited  the  result  of  the  trial.  She  heard 
the  shouts,  the  exclamations,  the  tramp  of  thousands  along 
the  Ltrect  ;  she  felt  that  the  victory  was  won  ;  and,  her  heart 
long  overcharged,  she  burst  into  passionate  tears.  The  return 
of  Angelo  soon  acquainted  her  with  all  that  had  passed  ;  but 
it  somewhat  chilled  her  joy  to  find  that  Rienzi  was  the  guest 
cf  the  dreaded  Cardinal.  That  shock,  in  which  certainty, 
however  happy,  replaces  suspense,  had  so  powerful  an  effect 
on  her  frame,  joined  to  her  loathing  fear  of  a  visit  from  the 
Cardinal,  that  she  became  for  three  days  alarmingly  ill  ;  and 
it  was  only  on  the  fifth  day  from  that  which  saw  Rienzi  en- 
dowed with  the  rank  of  Senator  of  Rome,  that  she  was  recov- 
ered sufficiently  to  admit  Albornoz  to  her  presence. 

The  Cardinal  had  sent  daily  to  inquire  after  her  health,  and 
his  inquiries,  to  her  alarmed  mind,  had  appeared  to  insinuate 
a  pretension  to  the  right  to  make  them.  Meanwhile  Albornoz 
had  had  enough  to  divert  and  occupy  his  thoughts.  Having 
bguj^ht  off  the  formidable  Montreal  from  the  service  of  John 


330  RIENZI, 

di  Vico,  one  of  the  ablest  and  fiercest  enemies  of  the  Church, 
he  resolved  to  march  to  the  territories  of  that  tyrant  as  expedi- 
tiously as  possible,  and  so  not  to  allow  him  time  to  obtain  the 
assistance  of  any  other  band  of  mercenary  adventurers  who 
found  Italy  the  market  for  their  valor.  Occupied  with  raising 
troops,  procuring  money,  corresponding  with  the  various  free 
States,  and  establishing  alliances  in  aid  of  his  more  ulterior 
and  more  ambitious  projects  at  the  court  of  Avignon,  the  Car- 
dinal waited  with  tolerable  resignation  the  time  when  he  might 
claim  from  the  Signora  Cesarini  the  reward  to  which  he 
deemed  himself  entitled.  Meanwhile  he  had  held  his  first 
conversations  with  Rienzi,  and,  under  the  semblance  of  courtesy 
to  the  acquitted  Tribune,  Albornoz  had  received  him  as  his 
guest,  in  order  to  make  himself  master  of  the  character  and 
disposition  of  one  in  whom  he  sought  a  minister  and  a  tool. 
That  miraculous  and  magic  art,  attested  by  the  historians  of 
the  time,  which  Rienzi  possessed  over  every  one  with  whom 
he  came  into  contact,  however  various  in  temper,  station,  or 
opinions,  had  not  deserted  him  in  his  interview  with  the  Pon- 
tiff. So  faithfully  had  he  described  the  true  condition  of 
Rome,  so  logically  had  he  treated  the  causes  and  the  remedies 
of  the  evils  she  endured,  so  sanguinely  had  he  spoken  of  his 
own  capacities  for  administering  her  affairs,  and  so  brilliantly 
had  he  painted  the  prospects  which  the  administration  opened 
to  the  weal  of  the  Church,  and  the  interests  of  the  Pope,  that 
Innocent,  though  a  keen  and  shrewd,  and  somewhat  sceptical 
calculator  of  human  chances,  was  entirely  fascinated  by  the 
eloquence  of  the  Roman. 

"Is  this  the  man,"  he  is  reported  to  have  said,  "whom  for 
twelve  months  we  have  treated  as  a  prisoner  and  a  criminal  ? 
Would  that  it  were  on  his  shoulders  only  that  the  Christian 
empire  reposed  ! " 

At  the  close  of  the  interview  he  had,  with  every  mark  of 
favor  and  distinction,  conferred  upon  Rienzi  the  rank  of  Sen- 
ator, which,  in  fact,  was  that  of  Viceroy  of  Rome,  and  had 
willingly  acceded  to  all  the  projects  which  the  enterprising 
Rienzi  had  once  more  formed — not  only  for  recovering 
the  territories  of  the  Church,  but  for  extending  the  dictatorial 
sway  of  the  Seven-hilled  City  over  the  old  dependencies  of 
Italy. 

Albornoz,  to  whom  the  Pope  retailed  this  conversation,  was 
somewhat  jealous  of  the  favor  the  new  Senator  had  so  sud- 
denly acquired,  and  immediately  on  his  return  home  sought 
^n  interview  with  his  guest.     In  his  heart  the  Lord  Cardinal, 


*tME   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  33I 

emphatically  a  man  of  action  and  business,  regarded  Rienzi  as 
one  rather  cunning  than  wise — rather  fortunate  than  great — ■ 
a  mixture  of  the  pedant  and  the  demagogue.  But  after  a  long 
and  scrutinizing  conversation  with  the  new  Senator  even  he 
yielded  to  the  spell  of  his  enchanting  and  master  intellect. 
Reluctantly  Albornoz  confessed  to  himself  that  Rienzi's  rise 
was  not  the  thing  of  chance  ;  yet  more  reluctantly  he  perceived 
that  the  Senator  was  one  whom  he  might  treat  with  as  an  equal, 
but  could  not  rule  as  a  minion.  And  he  entertained  serious 
doubts  whether  it  would  be  wise  to  reinstate  him  in  a  power 
which  he  evinced  the  capacity  to  wield  and  the  genius  to  ex- 
tend. Still,  however,  he  did  not  repent  the  share  he  had  taken 
in  Rienzi's  acquittal.  His  presence  in  a  camp  so  thinly  peopled 
was  a  matter  greatly  to  be  desired.  And  through  his  influence 
the  Cardinal  more  than  ever  trusted  to  enlist  the  Romans  in 
favor  of  his  enterprise  for  the  recovery  of  the  territory  of  St. 
Peter ! 

Rienzi,  who  panted  once  more  to  behold  his  Nina,  endeared 
to  him  by  trial  and  absence,  as  by  fresh  bridals,  was  not  how- 
ever able  to  discover  the  name  she  had  assumed  at  Avignon  ; 
and  his  residence  with  the  Cardinal,  closely  but  respectfully 
watched  as  he  was,  forbade  Nina  all  opportunity  of  corres- 
ponding with  him.  Some  half-bantering  hints  which  Albernoz 
had  dropped  upon  the  interest  taken  in  his  welfare  by  the 
most  celebrated  beauty  in  Avignon  had  filled  him  with  a  vague 
alarm  which  he  trembled  to  acknowledge  even  to  himself.  But 
the  volto sciolto"^  which,  in  common  with  all  Italian  politicians, 
concealed  whatever  were  his  pensieri  stretti^  enabled  him  to 
baffle  completely  the  jealous  and  lynx-like  observation  of  the 
Cardinal.  Nor  had  Alvarez  been  better  enabled  to  satisfy 
the  curiosity  of  his  master.  He  had  indeed  sought  the  page 
Villani,  but  the  imperious  manner  of  that  wayward  and  haughty 
Doy  had  cut  short  all  attempts  at  cross-examination.  And  all 
that  he  could  ascertain  was,  that  the  real  Angelo  Villani  was 
not  the  Angelo  Villani  who  had  visited  Rienzi. 

Trusting  at  last  that  he  should  learn  all,  and  inflamed  by 
such  passion  and  such  hope  as  he  was  capable  of  feeling,  Al- 
bornoz now  took  his  way  to  the  Cesarini's  palace. 

He  was  ushered  with  due  state  into  the  apartment  of  the 
signora.  He  found  her  pale,  and  with  the  traces  of  illness  upon 
her  noble  and  statuelike  features.  She  rose  as  he  entered  ; 
and  when  he  approached,  she  half  bent  her  knee,  and  raised 
his  hand   to  her  lips.     Surprised  and  delighted  at  a  reception 

*Volto  sciolto^pensieri  sirettl — the  countenance  open,  the  thoughts  restrained. 


33«  felENZl, 

SO  new,  the  Cardinal  hastened  to  prevent  the  condescension  ; 
retaining  both  her  hands,  he  attempted  gently  to  draw  them  to 
his  heart. 

"Fairest!**  he  whispered,  "couldst  thou  know  how  I  have 
mourned  thy  illness — and  yet  it  has  but  left  thee  more  lovely, 
as  the  rain  only  brightens  the  flower.  Ah  !  happy  if  I  have 
promoted  thy  lightest  wish,  and  if  in  thine  eyes  1  may  hence- 
forth seek  at  once  an  angel  to  guide  me  and  a  paradise  to  re- 
ward." 

Nina,  releasing  her  hand,  waved  it  gently,  and  motioned  the 
Cardinal  to  a  seat.  Seating  herself  at  a  little  distance,  she  then 
spoke  with  great  gravity  and  downcast  eyes. 

**'  My  lord,  it  is  your  intercession,  joined  to  his  own  innocence, 
that  has  released  from  yonder  tower  the  elected  governor  of  the 
people  of  Rome.  But  freedom  is  the  least  of  the  generous  gifts 
you  have  conferred  ;  there  is  a  greater  in  a  fair  name  vindicated^ 
and  rightful  honor  re-bestowed.  For  this,  I  rest  ever  your  debtor ; 
for  this,  if  I  bear  children,  they  shall  be  taught  to  bless  your 
name  ;  for  this,  the  historian  who  recalls  the  deeds  of  this  age, 
and  the  fortunes  of  Cola  di  Rienzi,  shall  add  a  new  chaplet  to 
the  wreaths  you  have  already  won.  Lord  Cardinal,  I  may  have 
erred.  I  may  have  offended  you  ;  you  may  accuse  me  of 
woman's  artifice.  Speak  not,  wonder  not,  hear  me  out.  I  have 
but  one  excuse,  when  I  say  that  I  held  justified  any  means 
short  of  dishonor  to  save  the  life  and  restore  the  fortunes  of 
Cola  di  Rienzi.  Know,  my  lord,  that  she  who  now  addresses 
you  is  his  wife." 

The  Cardinal  remained  motionless  and  silent.  But  his  sallow 
countenance  grew  flushed  from  the  brow  to  the  neck,  and  his 
thin  lips  quivered  for  a  moment,  and  then  broke  into  a  wither- 
ing and  bitter  smile.  At  length  he  rose  from  his  seat,  very 
slowly,  and  said  in  a  voice  trembling  with  passion  : 

**  It  is  well,  madam.  Giles  d'Albornoz  has  been,  then,  a 
puppet  in  the  hands,  a  stepping-stone  in  the  rise,  of  the  plebeian 
demagogue  of  Rome.  You  but  played  upon  me  for  your  own 
purposes  ;  and  nothing  short  of  a  Cardinal  of  Spain,  and  a 
Prince  of  the  royal  blood  of  Aragon,  was  meet  to  be  the  in- 
strument of  a  mountebank's  juggle !  Madam,  yourself  and 
your  husband  might  justly  be  accused  of  ambition — " 

"Cease,  my  lord,"  said  Nina,  with  unspeakable  dignity; 
"  whatever  offence  has  been  committed  against  you  was  mine 
alone.  Till  after  our  last  interview,  Rienzi  knew  not  even  of 
Wy  presence  at  Avignon." 

"At  our  last  interview,  lady  (you  do  well  to  recall  it !),  me* 


THE    LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  335 

thinks  there  was  a  hinted  and  implied  contract.  I  have  fulfilled 
my  part — I  claim  yours.  Mark  me  !  I  do  not  forego  that 
claim.  As  easily  as  I  rend  this  glove  can  I  rend  the  parch- 
ment which  proclaims  thy  husband  'the  Senator  of  Rome.' 
The  dungeon  is  not  death,  and  its  door  will  open  twice  " 

"  My  lord — my  lord  !  "  cried  Nina,  sick  with  terror,  "  wrong 
not  so  your  noble  nature,  your  great  name,  your  sacred  rank, 
your  chivalric  blood.  You  are  of  the  knightly  race  of  Spain, 
yours  not  the  sullen,  low,  and  inexorable  vices  that  stain  the 
petty  tyrants  of  this  unhappy  land.  You  are  no  Visconti — no 
Castracani — you  cannot  stain  your  laurels  with  revenge  upon  a 
woman.  Hear  me,"  she  continued,  and  she  fell  abruptly  at  his 
feet  ;  "men  dupe,  deceive  our  sex,  and  for  selfish  purposes  ; 
they  are  pardoned,  even  by  their  victims.  Did  /  deceive  you 
with  a  false  hope?  Well — what  my  object? — what  my  excuse? 
My  husband's  liberty  ;  my  land's  salvation  !  Woman, — my 
lord,  alas,  your  sex  too  rarely  understand  her  weakness  or  her 
greatness  !  Erring — all  human  as  she  is  to  others — God  gifts 
her  with  a  thousand  virtues  to  the  one  she  loves  !  It  is  from 
that  love  that  she  alone  drinks  her  nobler  nature.  For  the  hero 
of  her  worship  she  has  the  meekness  of  the  dove,  the  devotion 
of  the  saint ;  for  his  safety  in  peril,  for  his  rescue  in  misfortune, 
her  vain  sense  imbibes  the  sagacity  of  the  serpent,  her  weak 
heart  the  courage  of  the  lioness  I  It  is  this  which,  in  absence, 
made  me  mask  my  face  in  smiles,  that  the  friends  of  the  house- 
less exile  might  not  despair  of  his  fate  ;  it  is  this  which  brought 
me  through  forests  beset  with  robbers,  to  watch  the  stars  upon 
yon  solitary  tower  ;  it  was  this  which  led  my  steps  to  the  revels 
of  your  hated  court ;  this  which  made  me  seek  a  deliverer  in 
the  noblest  of  its  chiefs  ;  it  is  this  which  has  at  last  opened  the 
dungeon  door  to  the  prisoner  now  within  your  halls  ;  and  this, 
Lord  Cardinal,"  added  Nina,  rising,  and  folding  her  arms  upon 
her  heart,  "  this,  if  your  anger  seeks  a  victim,  will  inspire  me 
tc  die  without  a  groan, — but  without  dishonor  !  " 

Albornoz  remained  rooted  to  the  ground.  Amazement — 
emotion — admiration — all  busy  at  his  heart.  He  gazed  at 
Nina's  flashing  eyes  and  heaving  bosom  as  a  warrior  of  old  upon 
a  prophetess  inspired.  His  eyes  were  riveted  to  hers  as  by  a 
spell.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  his  voice  failed  him.  Nina  con- 
tinued : 

"Yes,  my  lord  :  these  are  no  idle  words  !  If  you  seek  revenge, 
it  is  in  your  power.  Undo  what  you  have  done.  Give  Rienzi 
back  to  the  dungeon,  or  to  disgrace,  and  you  are  avenged  ;  but 
not  on  /tim^     All  the  hearts  of  Italy  shall  become  to  him  a  second 


334  RiENZi, 

Nina  !  I  am  the  guilty  one,  and  I  the  sufferer.  Hear  trie 
swear — in  that  instant  which  sees  new  wrong  to  Rienzi,  this 
hand  is  my  executioner.     My  lord,  I  supplicate  you  no  longer  !" 

Albornoz  continued  deeply  moved.  Nina  but  rightly  judged 
him,  when  she  distinguished  the  aspiring  Spaniard  from  the 
barbarous  and  unrelenting  voluptuaries  of  Italy.  Despite  the 
profligacy  that  stained  his  sacred  robe  ;  despite  all  the  acquired 
and  increasing  callousness  of  a  hard,  scheming,  and  sceptical 
man,  cast  amidst  the  worst  natures  of  the  worst  of  times,  there 
lingered  yet  in  his  soul  much  of  the  knightly  honor  of  his  race 
and  country.  High  thoughts  and  daring  spirits  touched  a  con- 
genial string  in  his  heart,  and  not  the  less,  in  that  he  had  but 
rarely  met  them  in  his  experience  of  camps  and  courts.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  that  he  had  seen  the  woman  who 
could  have  contented  him  even  with  wedlock,  and  taught  him 
the  proud  and  faithful  love  of  which  the  minstrels  of  Spain  had 
sung.  He  sighed,  and  still  gazing  on  Nina,  approached  her 
almost  reverentially;  he  knelt  and  kissed  the  hem  of  her  robe. 
"Lady,"  he  said,  "I  would  I  could  believe  that  you  have  alto- 
gether read  my  nature  aright,  but  I  were  indeed  lost  to  all 
honor,  and  unworthy  of  gentle  birth,  if  I  still  harbored  a  single 
thought  against  the  peace  and  virtue  of  one  like  thee.  Sweet 
heroine,"  he  continued,  "so  lovely,  yet  so  pure  ;  so  haughty, 
yet  so  soft ;  thou  has  opened  to  me  the  brightest  page  these 
eyes  have  ever  scanned  in  the  blotted  volume  of  mankind. 
Mayest  thou  have  such  happiness  as  life  can  give  :  but  souls 
such  as  thine  make  their  nest  like  the  eagle,  upon  rocks  and 
amidst  the  storms.  Fear  me  no  more,  think  of  me  no  more, 
unless  hereafter,  when  thou  hearest  men  speak  of  Giles  d'Al- 
bornoz,  thou  mayest  say  in  thy  own  heart," — and  here  the 
Cardinal's  lips  curled  with  scorn — "  he  did  not  renounce  every 
feeling  worthy  of  a  man  when  Ambition  and  Fate  endued  hira 
with  the  surplice  of  the  priest." 

The  Spaniard  was  gone  before  Nina  could  reply* 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  335 

BOOK  VIII. 

THE  GRAND  COMPANY. 

**Montrealnourrissoitdeplusvastesprojets,  .  .  .  il  donnoit  4  sa  compagnie 
un  gouvernement  regulier.  .  .  .  Par  cetie  discipline  il  faisoit  regner  I'abon- 
dance  dans  son  camp  ;  les  gens  de  guerre  ne  parloient,  en  Italic,  que  des  lich- 
esses  qu'on  acqueroit  a  son  service." — SiSMONDi,  Hist,  des  R^publiques 
Ataliennes,  torn,  vi.,  c.  42. 

•'  Montreal  cherished  more  vast  designs.  ...  he  subjected  his  company  to  a 
regular  system  of  government.  .  .  .  By  means  of  this  discipline  he  kept  his 
camp  abundantly  supplied,  and  military  adventurers  in  Italy  talked  of  notli- 
ing  but  the  wealth  won  in  his  service." — Sismondi's  i7if.y/.  of  Hal.  Republics. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   ENCAMPMENT. 

It  was  a  most  lovely  day,  in  the  very  glow  and  meridian  of 
an  Italian  summer,  when  a  small  band  of  horsemen  were  seen 
winding  a  hill  which  commanded  one  of  the  fairest  landscapes 
of  Tuscany.  At  their  head  was  a  cavalier  in  a  complete  suit 
of  chain  armor,  the  links  of  which  were  were  so  fine  that  they 
resembled  a  delicate  and  curious  network,  but  so  strongly  com- 
pacted, that  they  would  have  resisted  spear  or  sword  no  less 
effectually  than  the  heaviest  corselet,  while  adapting  themselves 
exactly  and  with  ease  to  every  movement  of  the  light  and  grace- 
ful shape  of  the  rider.  He  wore  a  hat  of  dark  green  velvet 
shaded  by  long  plumes,  while  of  two  squires  behind,  the  one 
bore  his  helmet  and  lance,  the  other  led  a  strong  war-horse, 
completely  cased  in  plates  of  mail,  which  seemed,  however, 
scarcely  to  encumber  its  proud  and  agile  paces.  The  counte- 
nance of  the  cavalier  was  comely,  but  strongly  marked,  and 
darkened,  by  long  exposure  to  the  suns  of  many  climes,  to  a 
deep  bronze  hue  ;  a  few  raven  ringlets  escaped  from  beneath 
his  hat  down  a  cheek  closely  shaven.  The  expression  of  his 
features  was  grave  and  composed  even  to  sadness  ;  nor  could 
all  the  loveliness  of  the  unrivalled  scene  before  him  dispel  the 
quiet  and  settled  melancholy  of  his  eyes.  Besides  the  squires, 
ten  horsemen,  armed  cap-k-pi^,  attended  the  knight ;  and  the 


336  RIENZl, 

lov/  end  murmured  conversacion  they  carried  on  at  intervals,  as 
v/cl.  r. :  Uicir  long  fair  hair,  large  stature,  thick  short  beards,  and 
the  Ltudied  and  accurate  equipment  of  their  arms  and  steeds, 
bespoke  them  of  a  hardier  and  more  warlike  race  than  the  chil- 
dren of  the  South.  The  cavalcade  was  closed  with  a  man  a\- 
,  most  of  gigantic  height,  bearing  a  banner  richly  decorated, 
•  .'herein  was  \/rought  a  column,  with  the  inscription,  "Alone 
.iMiDST  RUINS."  Fair  indeed  was  the  prospect  which  with  every 
fixp  expanded  yet  more  widely  its  various  beauty.  Right  be- 
ore  stretched  a  long  vale,  .^.ow  covered  with  green  woodlands 
jlv  iering  in  the  yellow  sunlight,  now  opening  into  narrow  plains 
3ordered  by  hillocks,  from  whose  mosses  of  all  hues  grew  fan- 
tastic and  odorous  shrubs  ;  while,  winding  amidst  them,  a  broad 
anc  silver  stream  broke  into  light  at  frequent  intervals,  snatched 
by  wood  and  hillock  from  the  eye,  only  to  steal  upon  it  again 
in  sudden  and  bright  surprise.  The  opposite  slope  of  gentle 
mountains,  as  well  as  that  which  the  horsemen  now  descended, 
was  covered  with  vineyards,  trained  in  alleys  and  arcades  ;  and 
the  clustering  grape  laughed  from  every  leafy  and  glossy 
covert,  as  gaily  as  when  the  Fauns  held  a  holiday  in  the  shade. 
The  eye  of  the  cavalier  roved  listlessly  over  this  enchanting 
prospect,  sleeping  in  the  rosiest  light  of  a  Tuscan  heaven,  and 
then  became  fixed  with  a  more  earnest  attention  on  the  gray 
and  frowning  walls  of  a  distant  castle,  which,  high  upon  the 
;3teepest  of  the  opposite  mountains,  overlooked  the  valley. 

*' Behold,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "how  every  Eden  in  Italy 
hath  its  curse  !  Wherever  the  land  smiles  fairest,  be  sure  to 
find  the  brigand's  tent  and  the  tyrant's  castle  I  " 

Scarce  had  these  thoughts  passed  his  mind  ere  the  shrill  and 
sudden  blast  of  a  bugle  that  sounded  close  amongst  the  vine- 
yards by  the  side  of  the  path  startled  the  whole  group.  The 
cavalcade  halted  abruptly.  The  leader  made  a  gesture  to  the 
squire  who  led  his  war-horse.  The  noble  and  practised  animal 
remained  perfectly  still,  save  by  champing  its  bit  restlessly,  and 
moving  its  quick  ear  to  and  fro,  as  aware  of  a  coming  danger, 
v/hile  the  squire,  unincumbered  by  the  heavy  armor  of  the  Ger- 
mans, plunged  into  the  thicket  and  disappeared.  He  returnccl 
in  a  few  minutes,  all  heated  and  breathless. 

"  We  must  be  on  our  guard,"  he  whispered  ;  "  I  seethe  glim- 
mer of  steel  through  the  vine  leaves." 

"  Our  ground  is  unhappily  chosen,*^  said  the  knight,  hastily 
bracing  on  his  helmet  and  leaping  on  his  charger  ;  and  waving 
his  hand  towards  a  broader  space  in  the  road,  which  would 
permit  the  horsemen  more  room  to  act  in  union,  with  his  small 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  337 

band  he  made  hastily  to  the  spot,  the  armor  of  the  soldiers  rat- 
tling heavily  as  two  by  two  they  proceeded  on. 

The  space  to  which  the  cavalier  had  pointed  was  a  green 
semicircle  of  several  yards  in  extent,  backed  by  tangled  copses 
of  brushwood  sloping  down  to  the  vale  below.  They  reached 
it  in  safety  ;  they  drew  up  breast  to  breast  in  the  form  of  a 
crescent  ;  every  visor  closed  save  that  of  the  knight,  who  looked 
anxiously  and  keenly  round  the  landscape. 

"  Hast  thou  heard,  Giulio,"  he  said,  to  his  favorite  squire 
(the  only  Italian  in  the  party),  "  whether  any  brigands  have 
been  seen  lately  in  these  parts? " 

"  No,  my  lord  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  am  told  that  every  lance 
hath  left  the  country  to  join  the  Grand  Company  of  Fra 
Moreale.  The  love  of  his  pay  and  plunder  has  drawn  away 
the  mercenaries  of  every  Tuscan  signor." 

As  he  ceased  speaking  the  bugle  sounded  again  from  nearly 
the  same  spot  as  before  ;  it  was  answered  by  a  brief  and  mar- 
tial note  from  the  very  rear  of  the  horsemen.  At  the  same 
moment,  from  the  thickets  behind  broke  the  gleam  of  mail  and 
spears.  One  after  another,  rank  after  rank,  from  the  copse  be- 
hind them,  emerged  men-at-arms,  while  suddenly,  from  the 
vines  in  front,  still  greater  numbers  poured  forth  with  loud  and 
fierce  shouts. 

"  For  God,  for  the  Emperor,  and  for  the  Colonna  !  "  cried 
the  knight,  closing  his  visor  ;  and  the  little  band,  closely  ser- 
ried, the  lance  in  every  rest,  broke  upon  the  rush  of  the  enemy 
in  front.  A  score  or  so,  borne  to  the  ground  by  the  charge, 
cleared  a  path  for  the  horsemen,  and,  without  waiting  the 
assault  of  the  rest,  the  knight  wheeled  his  charger  and  led  the 
way  down  the  hill,  almost  at  full  gallop,  despite  the  roughness 
of  the  descent ;  a  flight  of  arrows  despatched  after  them  f**ll 
idly  on  their  iron  mail. 

*'  If  they  have  no  horse,"  cried  the  knight,  "  we  are  saved  !  " 

And,  indeed,  the  enemy  seemed  scarcely  to  think  of  pursuing 
them  ;  but  (gathered  on  the  brow  of  a  hill)  appeared  contented 
to  watch  their  flight. 

Suddenly  a  curve  in  the  road  brought  them  before  a  broad 
and  wide  patch  of  waste  land,  which  formed  almost  a  level  sur- 
face, interrupting  the  descent  of  the  mountain.  On  the  com- 
mencement of  this  waste,  drawn  up  in  still  array,  the  sunlight 
broke  on  the  breastplates  of  a  long  line  of  horsemen,  whom  the 
sinuosities  of  the  road  had  hitherto  concealed  from  the  knight 
and  his  party. 

The  little  troop  halted  abruptly — retreat,  advance  alike  cut 


338  RIENZI, 

off  ;  gazing  first  at  the  foe  before  them,  that  remained  still  as  « 
cloud,  every  eye  was  then  turned  towards  the  knight. 

"An  thou  wouldst,  my  lord,"  said  the  leader  of  the  North- 
men, perceiving  the  irresolution  of  their  chief,  "  we  will  fight  to 
the  last.  You  are  the  only  Italian  1  ever  knew  whom  1  would 
willingly  die  for  !  " 

This  rude  profe::sion  was  received  with  a  sympathetic  mur- 
mur from  the  rest,  and  the  soldiers  drew  closer  around  the 
knight.  "Nay,  my  brave  fellows,"  said  theColonna,  lifting  his 
visor,  "  it  is  not  in  so  inglorious  a  field,  after  such  various  for- 
tunes, that  we  are  doomed  to  perish.  If  these  be  brigands,  as 
we  must  suppose,  we  can  yet  purchase  our  way.  If  the  troops 
of  some  signor,  we  are  strangers  to  the  feud  in  which  he  is  en- 
gaged.    Give  me  yon  banner — I  will  ride  on  to  them." 

"Nay,  my  lord,"  said  Giulio ;  "such  marauders  do  not  al- 
ways spare  a  flag  of  truce.     There  is  danger — " 

"  For  that  reason  your  leader  braves  it.     Quick  !  ' 

The  knight  took  the  banner,  and  rode  deliberately  up  to  the 
horsemen.  On  approaching  his  warlike  eyes  could  not  but 
admire  the  perfect  caparison  of  their  arms,  the  strength  and 
beauty  of  their  steeds,  and  the  steady  discipline  of  their  long 
and  glittering  line. 

As  he  rode  up,  and  his  gorgeous  banner  gleamed  in  the  noon- 
light,  the  soldiers  saluted  him.  It  was  a  good  omen,  and  he 
hailed  it  as  such.  "  Fair  sirs,"  said  the  knight,  "  I  come,  at 
once  herald  and  leader  of  the  little  band  who  have  just  escaped 
the  unlooked-for  assault  of  armed  men  on  yonder  hill  ;  and, 
claiming  aid,  as  knight  from  knight,  and  soldier  from  soldier,  I 
place  my  troop  under  the  protection  of  your  leader.  Suffer 
me  to  see  him." 

"  Sir  Knight,"  answered  one,  who  seemed  the  captain  of  the 
3and,  "  sorry  am  I  to  detain  one  of  your  gallant  bearing,  and 
still  more  so,  on  recognizing  the  device  of  one  of  the  most 
potent  houses  of  Italy.  But  our  orders  are  strict,  and  we  must 
bring  all  armed  men  to  the  camp  of  our  general." 

"  Long  absent  from  my  native  land,  I  knew  not,"  replied  the 
knight,  "that  there  was  war  in  Tuscany.  Permit  me  to  crave 
the  name  of  the  general  whom  you  speak  of,  and  that  of  the  foe 
against  whom  ye  march." 

The  captain  smiled  slightly. 

"  Walter  de  Montreal  is  the  General  of  the  Great  Company, 
and  Florence  his  present  foe." 

"  We  have  fallen,  then,  into  friendly,  if  fierce  hands,"  replied 
the  knight,  after  a  moment's  pause.     **  To  Sir  Walter  de  Mon« 


THE   LAST  OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  339 

treal  I  am  known  of  old.  Permit  me  to  return  to  my  compan- 
ions, and  acquaint  them  that  if  accident  has  made  us  prisoners, 
it  is,  at  least,  only  to  the  most  skilful  warrior  of  his  day  that  we 
are  condemned  to  yield," 

The  Italian  then  turned  his  horse  to  join  his  comrade. 

'*  A  fair  knight  and  a  bold  presence,"  said  the  captain  of  the 
Companions  to  his  neighbor,  "  though  I  scarce  think  it  is  the 
party  we  are  ordered  to  intercept.  Praised  be  the  Virgin,  how- 
ever, his  men  seem  from  the  North.  Them,  perhaps,  we  may 
hope  to  enlist." 

The  knight  now,  with  his  comrades,  rejoined  the  troop.  And, 
on  receiving  their  parole  not  to  attempt  escape,  a  detach- 
ment of  thirty  horsemen  were  despatched  to  conduct  the  pris- 
oners to  the  encampment  of  the  Great  Company. 

Turning  from  the  main  road  the  knight  found  himself  con- 
ducted into  a  narrow  defile  between  the  hills,  which,  succeeded 
by  a  gloomy  tract  of  wild  forest-land,  brought  the  party  at 
length  into  a  full  and  abrupt  view  of  a  wild  plain,  covered  with 
the  tents  of  what,  for  Italian  warfare,  was  considered  a  mighty 
army.  A  stream,  over  which  rude  and  hasty  bridges  had  been 
formed  from  the  neighboring  timber,  alone  separated  the  horse- 
men from  the  encampment. 

"A  noble  sight  !  "  said  the  captive  cavalier,  with  enthusiasm, 
as  he  reined  in  his  steed,  and  gazed  upon  the  wild  and  warlike 
streets  of  canvas,  traversing  each  other  in  vistas  broad  and 
regular. 

One  of  the  captains  of  the  Great  Company  who  rode  beside 
him  smiled  complacently. 

"  There  are  few  masters  of  the  martial  art  who  equal  Fra 
Moreale,"  said  he  ;  "and  savage,  reckless,  and  gathered  from 
all  parts  and  all  countries — from  cavern  and  from  market-place, 
from  prison  and  from  palace — as  are  his  troops,  he  has  reduced 
them  already  into  a  discipline  which  might  shame  even  the  sol- 
diery of  the  Empire." 

The  knight  made  no  reply ;  but,  spurring  his  horse  over  one 
of  the  rugged  bridges,  soon  found  himself  amidst  the  encamp- 
ment. But  that  part  at  which  he  entered  little  merited  the 
praises  bestowed  upon  the  discipline  of  the  army.  A  more  un- 
ruly and  disorderly  array  the  cavalier,  accustomed  to  the  stern 
regularity  of  English,  French,  and  German  discipline,  thought 
he  had  never  beheld  :  here  and  there,  fierce,  unshaven,  half-naked 
brigands  might  be  seen,  driving  before  them  the  cattle  which 
they  had  just  collected  by  predatory  excursions.  Sometimes  a 
knot  of  dissolute  wooien  «tood— ^hattcrit^  scolding)  gQsticu^ 


54©  RIENZT, 

Jating — collected  round  groups  of  wild,  shagged  Northmen,  w'ho^ 
despite  the  bright  purity  of  the  summer-noon,  were  already  en- 
gaged in  deep  potations.  Oaths,  and  laughter,  and  drunken 
merriment,  and  fierce  brawl,  rang  from  side  to  side  ;  and  ever 
and  anon  some  hasty  conflict  with  drawn  knives  was  begun  and 
finished  by  the  fiery  and  savage  bravos  of  Calabria  or  the  Apen- 
nines, before  the  very  eyes  and  almost  in  the  very  path  of  the 
troop.  Tumblers,  and  mountebanks,  and  jugglers,  and  Jew 
pedlers,  were  exhibiting  their  tricks  or  their  wares  at  every 
interval,  apparently  well  inured  to  the  lawless  and  turbulent 
market  in  which  they  exercised  their  several  callings.  Despite 
the  protection  of  the  horsemen  who  accompanied  them,  the 
prisoners  were  not  allowed  to  pass  without  molestation. 
Groups  of  urchins,  squalid,  fierce,  and  ragged,  seemed  to  start 
from  the  ground,  and  surrounded  their  horses  like  swarms  of 
bees,  uttering  the  most  discordant  cries  ;  and,  with  the  gestures 
of  savages,  rather  demanding  than  beseeching  money,  which, 
when  granted,  seemed  only  to  render  them  more  insatiable 
While,  sometimes  mingled  with  the  rest,  were  seen  the  bright 
eyes  and  olive  cheek,  and  half-pleading,  half-laughing  smile  of 
girls,  whose  extreme  youth,  scarce  emerged  from  childhood, 
rendered  doubly  striking  their  utter  and  unredeemed  abandon- 
ment. 

"  You  did  not  exaggerate  the  decorum  of  the  Grand  Com- 
pany !  "  cried  the  knight,  gravely,  to  his  new  acquaintance. 

"  Signor,"  replied  the  other,  "  you  must  not  judge  of  the 
kernel  by  the  shell.  We  are  scarcely  yet  arrived  at  the  camp. 
These  are  the  outskirts,  occupied  rather  by  the  rabble  than  the 
soldiers.  Twenty  thousand  men  from  the  sink,  it  must  be 
owned,  of  every  town  in  Italy,  follow  the  camp,  to  fight  if  nec- 
essary, but  rather  for  plunder,  and  for  forage:  such  you  now 
behold.     Presently  you  will  see  those  of  another  stamp." 

The  knight's  heart  swelled  high.  "  And  to  such  men  is 
Italy  given  up  !  "  thought  he.  His  revery  was  broken  up  by  a 
ioud  burst  of  applause  from  some  convivialists  hard  by.  He 
turned,  and  under  a  long  tent,  and  round  a  board  covered  with 
wine  and  viands,  sate  some  thirty  or  forty  bravos.  A  ragged 
minstrel,  or  jongleur,  with  an  immense  beard  and  mustachios, 
was  tuning,  with  no  inconsiderable  skill,  a  lute  which  had  ac- 
companied him  in  all  his  wanderings  ;  and  suddenly  changing 
its  notes  into  a  wild  and  warlike  melody,  he  commenced  in  a 
ioud  and  deep  voice  the  following  song : 


tHE   LAST   OF   tH£   TRIBtJNES.  ^t 

THE  PRAISE  OF  THE  GRAND  COMPANY. 

I. 

Ho,  dark  one  from  the  golden  South,— 
'  Ho,  fair  one  from  the  North  ; 

Ho,  coat  of  mail  and  spear  of  sheen— 

Ho,  wherefore  ride  ye  forth  ? 
•*  We  come  from  mount,  we  come  from  cavC^ 

We  come  across  the  sea, 
In  long  array,  in  bright  array, 
To  Montreal's  companie." 
Oh,  the  merry,  merry  band, 
Light  heart,  and  heavy  hand— 
Oh,  the  Lances  of  the  Free! 

II. 

Ho,  Princes  of  the  castled  height— 

Ho,  Burghers  of  the  town  ; 
Apulia's  strength,  Romagna's  pride, 

And  Tusca's  old  renown  ! 
Why  quail  ye  thus  ?  why  pale  ye  thus  ? 

What  spectre  do  ye  see  ? 
*•  The  blood-red  flag,  and  trampling  march 
Of  Montreal's  Companie." 

Oh,  the  sunshine  of  your  life — 
Oh,  the  thunders  of  your  strife ! 
Wild  Lances  of  the  Free  ! 

III. 
Ho,  scutcheons  o'er  the  vaulted  tomb 

Where  Norman  valor  sleeps, 
Why  shake  ye  so  ?  why  quake  ye  so  ? 

What  wind  the  trophy  sweeps? 
•*  Wc  shake  without  a  breath — below, 

The  dead  are  stirred  to  see, 
The  Norman's  fame  revived  again 
In  Montreal's  Companie." 
Since  Roger  won  his  crown. 
Who  hath  equalled  your  renown. 
Brave  Lances  of  the  Free  ? 

IV. 

Ho,  ye  who  seek  to  win  a  name, 

Where  deeds  are  bravest  done— 
Ho,  ye  who  wish  to  pile  a  heap. 
Where  gold  is  lightest  won  ; 
Ho,  ye  who  loathe  the  stagnant  life. 

Or  shun  the  law's  decree, 
S^lt  on  the  brand,  and  spur  the  steed. 
To  Montreal's  Companie. 

And  the  maid  shall  share  her  rest. 
And  the  miser  share  his  chest, 

With  the  Lances  of  the  Free  I 
The  Free  ! 
The  Free  ! 
Ob !  the  Lances  of  the  Free  I 


342  RIENZI, 

Then  suddenly,  as  if  inspired  to  a  wilder  flight  by  his  own 
minstrelsy,  the  jongleur,  sweeping  his  hand  over  the  chords, 
broke  forth  into  an  air  admirably  expressive  of  the  picture 
which  his  words,  running  into  a  rude  but  lively  and  stirring 
doggerel,  attempted  to  paint. 

THE  MARCH  OF  THE  GRAND  COMPANY. 

Tiri,  tirali — trumpet  and  drum — 

Rising  bright  o'er  the  height  of  the  mountain  they  come  I 
German  and  Hun,  and  the  Islandrie, 
Who  routed  the  Frenchman  at  famed  Cressie, 
When  the  rose  changed  its  hue  with  \.h&  Jieur-de-lis ^ 
With  the  Roman,  and  Lombard,  and  Piedmontese, 
And  the  dark-haired  son  of  the  southern  seas. 
Tir^,  tirala — more  near  and  near 

Down  the  steep — see  them  sweep  ; — rank  by  rank  they  appear  ! 
With  the  Cloud  of  the  Crowd  hanging  dark  at  their  rear- 
Serried,  and  steadied,  and  orderlie, 
Like  the  course — like  the  force — of  a  marching  sea  1 
Open  your  gates  and  out  with  your  gold, 
For  the  blood  must  be  spilt  or  the  ransom  be  told  ! 
Woe,  Burghers,  woe  !     Behold  them  led 
By  the  stoutest  arm  and  the  wisest  head, 
With  the  snow-white  cross  on  the  cloth  of  red  ;— • 
With  the  eagle  eye,  and  the  lion  port, 
His  barb  for  a  throne,  and  his  camp  for  a  court: 
Sovereign  and  scourge  of  the  land  is  he — 
The  kingly  Knight  of  the  Companie  ! 
Hurrah — hurrah — hurrah  ! 
Hurrah  for  the  army — hurrah  for  its  lord- 
Hurrah  for  the  gold  that  is  got  by  the  sword- 
Hurrah — hurrah — hurrah  ! 

For  the  Lances  of  the  Free  ! 

Shouted  by  the  full  chorus  of  those  desperate  boon-companions, 
and  caught  up  and  re-echoed  from  side  to  side,  near  and  far, 
as  the  familiar  and  well-known  words  of  the  burden  reached 
xhe  ears  of  more  distant  groups  of  stragglers,  the  effect  of  this 
fierce  and  licentious  minstrelsy  was  indescribable.  It  was  im- 
possible not  to  feel  the  zest  which  that  daring  life  imparted  to 
its  daring  followers,  and  even  the  gallant  and  stately  knight 
who  listened  to  it  reproved  himself  for  an  involuntary  thrill  of 
sympathy  and  pleasure. 

He  turned  with  some  impatience  and  irritation  to  his  com- 
panion, who  had  taken  a  part  in  the  chorus,  and  said,  "Sir,  to 
the  ears  of  an  Italian  noble,  conscious  of  the  miseries  of  his 
country,  this  ditty  is  not  welcome.     I  pray  you,  let  us  proceed.'* 

*'  i  humbly  crave  your  pardon,  signor,"   said  the  Free  Com- 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  343 

panion  ;  "  but  really  so  attractive  is  the  life  led  by  the  Free 
Lances,  under  Fra  Moreale,  that  sometimes  we  forget  the — 
but  pardon  me,  we  will  on." 

A  few  moments  more,  and  bounding  over  a  narrow  circum- 
vallation,  the  party  found  themselves  in  a  quarter,  animated  in- 
deed, but  of  a  wholly  different  character  of  animation.  Long 
lines  of  armed  men  were  drawn  up  on  either  side  of  a  path 
conducting  to  a  large  marquee,  placed  upon  a  little  hillock, 
surmounted  by  a  blue  flag,  and  up  this  path  armed  soldiers 
were  passing  to  and  fro  with  great  order,  but  with  a  pleased  and 
complacent  expression  upon  their  swarthy  features.  Some 
that  repaired  to  the  marquee  were  bearing  packets  and  bales 
upon  their  shoulders  ;  those  that  returned  seemed  to  have  got 
rid  of  their  burdens,  but  every  now  and  then,  impatiently  open- 
ing their  hands,  appeared  counting  and  recounting  to  them- 
selves the  coins  contained  therein. 

The  knight  looked  inquiringly  at  his  companion. 

"  It  is  the  marquee  of  the  merchants,"  said  the  captain  ; 
"  they  have  free  admission  to  the  camp,  and  their  property  and 
persons  are  rigidly  respected.  They  purchase  each  soldier's 
share  of  the  plunder  at  fair  prices,  and  either  party  is  con- 
tented with  the  bargain." 

"  It  seems,  then,  that  there  is  some  kind  of  rude  justice  ob- 
served amongst  you,"  said  the  knight. 

*'  Rude  !  Diavolo  !  Not  a  town  in  Italy  but  would  be  glad 
of  such  even  justice,  and  such  impartial  laws.  Yonder  lie  the 
tents  of  the  judges  appointed  to  try  all  offences  of  soldier 
against  soldier.  To  the  right,  the  tent  with  the  golden  ball 
contains  the  treasurer  of  the  army.  Fra  Moreale  incurs  no  ar- 
rears with  his  soldiery." 

It  was,  indeed,  by  these  means  that  the  Knight  of  St.  John 
had  collected  the  best-equipped  and  the  best-contented  force 
in  Italy.  Every  day  brought  him  recruits.  Nothing  was 
spoken  of  amongst  the  mercenaries  of  Italy  but  the  wealth  ac- 
quired in  his  service,  and  every  warrier  in  the  pay  of 
Republic  or  of  Tyrant  sighed  for  the  lawless  standard  of 
Fra  Moreale.  Already  had  exaggerated  tales  of  the  for- 
tunes to  be  made  in  the  ranks  of  the  Great  Company 
passed  the  Alps ;  and  even  now,  the  knight,  penetrating 
farther  into  the  camp,  beheld  from  many  a  tent  the  proud 
banners  and  armorial  blazon  of  German  nobility  and  Gallic 
knighthood. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  Free  Companion,  pointing  to  these  in- 
gij^ni^,  "  we  ^re  not  without  pur  different  r^nks  in  our  wild  city 


344  RIENZI, 

And  while  we  speak,  many  a  golden  spur  is  speeding  hitheiw 
ward  from  the  North  !  " 

All  now  in  the  quarter  they  had  entered  was  still  and  solemn; 
only  afar  came  the  mingled  hum,  or  the  sudden  shout  of  the 
pandemonium  in  the  rear,  mellowed  by  distance  to  a  not  un- 
pleasing  sound.  An  occasional  soldier,  crossing  their  path, 
stalked  silently  and  stealthily  to  some  neighboring  tent,  and 
seemed  scarcely  to  regard  their  approach. 

"  Behold  !  we  are  before  the  General's  pavilion,"  said  the 
Free  Lance. 

Blazoned  with  purple  and  gold,  the  tent  of  Montreal  lay  a 
little  apart  from  the  rest.  A  brooklet  from  the  stream  they 
had  crossed  murmured  gratefully  on  the  ear,  and  a  tall  and 
v/ide-spreading  beech  cast  its  shadow  over  the  gorgeous  can- 
vas. 

While  his  troop  waited  without,  the  knight  was  conducted  at 
once  to  the  presence  of  the  formidable  adventurer. 


CHAPTER  II. 

ADRIAN  ONCE   MORE   THE   GUEST  OF  MONTREAL. 

Montreal  was  sitting  at  the  head  of  a  table  surrounded  by 
men,  some  military,  some  civil,  whom  he  called  his  coun- 
cillors, and  with  whom  he  apparently  debated  all  his  pro- 
jects. These  men,  drawn  from  various  cities,  were  intimately 
acquainted  with  the  internal  affairs  of  the  several  States  to 
which  they  belonged.  They  could  tell  to  a  fraction  the  force 
of  a  signor,  the  wealth  of  a  merchant,  the  power  of  a  mob. 
And  thus,  in  his  lawless  camp,  Montreal  presided,  not  more  as 
a  general  than  a  statesman.  Such  knowledge  was  invaluable 
to  the  chief  of  the  Great  riompany.  It  enabled  him  to  calcu- 
late exactly  the  time  to  attack  a  foe,  and  the  sum  to  demand 
tor  a  suppression  of  hostilities.  He  knew  what  parties  to  deal 
with,  where  to  importune,  where  to  forbear.  And  it  usually 
happened  that,  by  some  secret  intrigue,  the  appearance  of 
Montreal's  banner  before  the  walls  of  a  city  was  the  signal 
for  some  sedition  or  some  broil  within.  It  may  be  that  he 
thus  also  promoted  an  ulterior,  as  well  as  his  present,  policy. 

The  divan  were  in  full  consultation  when  an  officer  entered, 
and  whispered  a  few  words  in  Montreal's  ear.  His  eyes  bright- 
vwedr     "  Admit  him,"  he  said  hastily.     "  Messireg/'  he  ^dded 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  345 

to  his  councillors,  rubbing  his  hands,    "I  think  our  net  has 
caught  our  bird.     Let  us  see." 

At  this  moment  the  drapery  was  lifted  and  the  knight  admitted. 

'*  How  !  "  muttered  Montreal,  changing  color,  and  in  evident 
disappointment.     "  Am  I  to  be  ever  thus  balked?" 

"  Sir  Walter  de  Montreal,"  said  the  prisoner,  "  I  am  once 
more  your  guest.  In  these  altered  features  you  perhaps 
scarcely  recognize  Adrian  di  Castello." 

"  Pardon  me,  noble  signor,"  said  Montreal,  rising  with  great 
courtesy,  "  the  mistake  of  my  varlets  disturbed  my  recollection 
for  a  moment.  I  rejoice  once  more  to  press  a  hand  that  has  won 
so  many  laurels  since  last  we  parted.  Your  renown  has  been 
grateful  to  my  ears.  Ho!"  continued  the  chieftain,  clapping  his 
hands,  ''see  to  the  refreshment  and  repose  of  this  noble  cavalier 
and  his  attendants.     Lord  Adrian,  I  will  join  you  presently." 

Adrian  withdrew.  Montreal,  forgetful  of  his  councillors, 
traversed  his  tent  with  hasty  strides  ;  then  summoning  the 
officer  who  had  admitted  Adrian,  he  said,  **  Count  Landau 
still  keeps  the  pass?" 

"  Yes,  General  !  " 

"  Hie  thee  fast  back,  then — the  ambuscade  must  tarry  till 
nightfall.     We  have  trapped  the  wrong  fox." 

The  officer  departed,  and  shortly  afterwards  Montreal  broke 
up  the  divan.  He  sought  Adrian,  who  was  lodged  in  a  tent 
beside  his  own. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Montreal,  "  it  is  true  that  my  men  had  orders 
to  stop  every  one  on  the  roads  towards  Florence.  I  am  at  war 
with  that  city.  Yet  I  expected  a  very  different  prisoner  from 
you.     Need  I  add,  that  you  and  your  men  are  free  ?  " 

"  I  accept  the  courtesy,  noble  Montreal,  as  frankly  as  it  is 
rendered.  May  I  hope  hereafter  to  repay  it?  Meanwhile  per- 
mit me,  without  any  disrespect,  to  say  that  had  I  learned  the 
Grand  Company  was  in  this  direction,  I  should  have  altered 
my  course.  I  had  heard  that  your  arms  were  bent  (somewhat  to 
my  mind  more  nobly)  against  Malatesta,  the  tyrant  of  Rimini !" 

"They  were  so.  He  7vas  my  foe  ;  he  is  my  tributary.  We 
conquered  him.  He  paid  us  the  price  of  his  liberty.  We 
marched  by  Asciano  upon  Sienna.  For  sixteen  thousand 
florins  vy/e  spared  that  city  ;  and  we  now  hang  like  a  thunder- 
bolt over  Florence,  which  dared  to  send  her  puny  aid  to  the 
defence  of  Rimini.  Our  marches  are  forced  and  rapid,  and  our 
camp  in  this  plain  but  just  pitched." 

"  I  hear  that  the  Grand  Company  is  allied  with  Albornoz,  and 
that  its  general  is  secretly  the  soldier  of  the  Church.     Is  it  so?'* 


346  RiENzr, 

"  Ay — Albornoz  and  I  understand  one  another,"  replied 
Montreal  carelessly  ;  ''  and  not  the  less  so  that  we  have  a 
mutual  foe,  whom  both  are  sworn  to  crush,  in  Visconti,  the 
Archbishop  of  Milan." 

"  Visconti !  the  most  potent  of  the  Italian  princes.  That  he 
has  justly  incurred  the  wrath  of  the  Church  I  know,  and  I  can 
readily  understand  that  Innocent  has  revoked  the  pardon  which 
the  intrigues  of  the  Archbishop  purchased  from  Clement  VL 
But  I  do  not  see  clearly  why  Montreal  should  willingly  provoke 
so  dark  and  terrible  a  foe." 

Montreal  smiled  sternly.  "  Know  you  not,"  he  said,  "  the 
vast  ambition  of  that  Visconti  ?  By  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  he  is 
precisely  the  enemy  my  soul  leaps  to  meet !  He  has  a  genius 
worthy  to  cope  with  Montreal's.  I  have  made  myself 
master  of  his  secret  plans — they  are  gigantic !  In  a  word,  the 
Archbishop  designs  the  conquest  of  all  Italy.  His  enormous 
wealth  purchases  the  corrupt ;  his  dark  sagacity  ensnares  the 
credulous  ;  his  daring  valor  awes  the  weak.  Every  enemy  he 
humbles,  every  ally  he  enslaves.  This  is  precisely  the  prince 
whose  progress  Walter  de  Montreal  must  arrest.  For  this  (he 
said  in  a  whisper  as  to  himself)  is  precisely  the  prince  who,  if 
suffered  to  extend  his  power,  will  frustrate  the  plans  and  break 
the  force  of  Walter  de  Montreal." 

Adrian  was  silent,  and  for  the  first  time  a  suspicion  of  the 
real  nature  of  the  Provengal's  designs  crossed  his  breast. 

*'  But,  noble  Montreal,"  resumed  the  Colonna,  "  give  me,  if 
your  knowledge  serves,  as  no  doubt  it  does, — give  me  the  latest 
tidings  of  my  native  city.  I  am  Roman,  and  Rome  is  ever  in 
my  thoughts." 

"And  well  she  may,"  replied  Montreal  quickly.  "Thou 
knowest  that  Albornoz,  as  Legate  of  the  Pontiff,  led  the  army 
of  the  Church  into  the  Papal  Territories.  He  took  with  him 
Cola  di  Rienzi.  Arrived  at  Monte  Fiascone,  crowds  of  Romans 
of  all  ranks  hastened  thither  to  render  homage  to  the  Tribune. 
The  Legate  was  forgotten  in  the  popularity  of  his  companion. 
Whether  or  not  Albornoz  grew  jealous — for  he  is  proud  as 
Lucifer — of  the  respect  paid  to  the  Tribune,  or  whether  he 
feared  the  restoration  of  his  power,  I  cannot  tell.  But  he  de- 
tained him  in  his  camp,  and  refused  to  yield  him  to  all  the 
solicitations  and  all  the  deputations  of  the  Romans.  Artfully, 
however,  he  fulfilled  one  of  the  real  objects  of  Rienzi's  release. 
Through  his  means  he  formally  regained  the  allegiance  of 
Rome  to  the  Church,  and  by  the  attraction  of  his  presence 
swelleci  his  camp  with  Romari  recruits.     Marching  to  Viterbo, 


THE   LAST    OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  347 

Rienzi  distinguished  himself  greatly  in  deeds  of  arms  against 
the  tyrant  ^  John  di  Vico.  Nay,  he  fought  as  one  worthy  of 
belonging  to  the  Grand  Company.  This  increased  the  zeal  of 
the  Romans  ;  and  the  city  disgorged  half  its  inhabitants  to  at- 
tend the  person  of  the  bold  Tribune.  To  the  entreaties  of 
these  worthy  citizens  (perhaps  the  very  men  who  had  before 
shut  up  their  darling  in  St.  Angelo)  the  crafty  Legate  merely 
replied,  '  Arm  against  John  di  Vico — conquer  the  tyrants  of 
the  territory — re-establish  the  patrimony  of  St.  Peter,  and 
Kienzi  shall  then  be  proclaimed  Senator,  and  return  to  Rome.* 

''These  words  inspired  the  Romans  with  so  great  a  zeal  that 
they  willingly  lent  their  aid  to  the  Legate.  Aquapendente, 
Bolzena  yielded,  John  di  Vico  was  half-  reduced  and  half-terri- 
fied into  submission,  and  Gabrielli,  the  tyrant  of  Agobbio,  has 
since  succumbed.  The  glory  is  to  the  Cardinal,  but  the  merit 
with  Rienzi." 

"  And  now  ?  " 

*'Albornoz  continued  to  entertain  the  Senator-Tribune  witb 
great  splendor  and  fair  words,  but  not  a  word  about  restoring 
him  to  Rome.  Wearied  with  this  suspense,  I  have  learned  by 
secret  intelligence  that  Rienzi  has  left  the  camp,  and  betaken 
himself  with  few  attendants  to  Florence,  where  he  has  friends, 
who  will  provide  him  with  arms  and  money  to  enter  Rome." 

"  Ah,  then  !  now  I  guess,"  said  Adrian,  with  a  half-smile, 
"  for  whom  I  was  mistaken  !  " 

Montreal  blushed  slightly.     "  Fairly  conjectured  !  "  said  he. 

*'  Meanwhile  at  Rome,"  continued  the  Provencal — "  at  Rome, 
your  worthy  House,  and  that  of  the  Orsini,  being  elected  to  the 
supreme  power,  quarrelled  among  themselves,  and  could  not 
keep  the  authority  they  had  won.  Francesco  Baroncelli,  f  a 
new  demagogue,  a  humble  imitator  of  Rienzi,  rose  upon  the 

*  Vit.  di  Col.  di  Rienzi. 

t  This  Baroncelli,  who  has  been  introduced  to  the  reader  in  a  former  portion  of  this 
rork.  is  called  by  Matteo  Villani  "a  man  of  vile  birth  and  little  learning — he  had  been  a 
.Notary  of  theCapitol." 

In  the  midst  of  the  armed  dissensions  between  the  barons  which  followed  the  expulsion 
)f  Rienzi,  Barcncelli  contrived  to  make  himself  master  of  the  Capitol,  and  of  what  was  con- 
sidered an  auxiliary  of  no  common  importance — viz.,  the  tireat  Bell,  by  whose  alarm  Rienzi 
had  so  often  summoned  to  arms  the  Roman  people.  Baroncelli  was  crowned  Tribune, 
clothed  in  a  robe  of  gold  brocade,  and  invested  with  the  crozier-sceptre  of  Rienzi.  At  first, 
nis  cruelty  against  the  great  took  the  appearance  of  protection  to  ihe  humble  ;  but  the  ex- 
cesses of  his  sons  (not  exaggerated  in  the  text),  and  his  own  brutal  but  bold  ferocity,  soon 
made  him  execrated  by  the  people,  to  whom  he  owed  his  elevation.  He  had  the  folly  to 
declare  against  the  Pope  ;  and  this  it  really  was  that  mainly  induced  Innocent  to  restore, 
and  oppose  to  their  new  demagogue,  the  former  and  more  illustrious  Tribune.  Baroncelli, 
like  Rienzi,  was  excommunicated  ;  and  in  his  instance,  also,  the  curse  of  the  Church  was 
the  immediate  cause  of  his  downfall.  In  attempting  flight  he  was  massacred  by  the  mob, 
December,  1353.  Some,  however,  have  maintained  that  he  was  slain  in  combat  with 
Rienzi  ;  and  others,  by  a  confusion  of  dates,  have  made  him  succeed  to  Rienzi  on  the  death 
of  the  latter. —  Mntteo  Villani,  lib.  iii.,cap.  78.  Osservaz.  iitor.  di  Zefirino  Re,  MS* 
Vat,  m^.  dai  Bzovia^  ann.  1353.    N.  2, 


34^  RIENZI, 

ruins  of  the  peace  broken  by  the  nobles,  obtained  the  title  of 
Tribune,  and  carried  about  the  very  insignia  used  by  his  pred- 
ecessor. But,  less  wise  than  Rienzi,  he  took  the  antipapal 
party.  And  the  Legate  was  thus  enabled  to  play  the  papal 
demagogue  against  the  usurper.  Baroncelli  was  a  weak  man, 
his  sons  committed  every  excess  in  mimicry  of  the  highborn 
tyrants  of  Padua  and  Milan.  Virgins  violated  and  matrons 
dishonored,  somewhat  contrasted  the  solemn  and  majestic  de- 
corum of  Rienzi's  rule  ;  in  fine,  Baroncelli  fell,  massacred  by 
the  people.  And  now,  if  you  ask  what  rules  Rome,  I  answer, 
*  It  is  the  hope  of  Rienzi.'  " 

"  A  strange  man,  and  various  fortunes.  What  will  be  the  end 
of  both  !  " 

"  Swift  murder  to  the  first,  and  eternal  fame  to  the  last,"  an- 
swered Montreal  calmly.  "  Rienzi  will  be  restored  ;  that  brave 
phoenix  will  wing  its  way  through  storm  and  cloud  to  its  own 
funeral  pyre  :  I  foresee,  I  compassionate,  I  admire.  And 
Ihen,"  added  Montreal,  *'  I  look  beyond!  " 

"  But  wherefore  feel  you  so  certain  that,  if  restored,  Rienzi 
must  fall?" 

**  Is  it  not  clear  to  every  eye,  save  his,  whom  ambition  blinds  ? 
How  can  mortal  genius,  however  great,  rule  that  most  depraved 
people  by  popular  means  ?  The  barons  (you  know  their  in- 
domitable ferocity) — wedded  to  abuse,  and  loathing  every 
semblance  to  law  ;  the  barons,  humbled  for  a  moment,  will 
watch  their  occasion,  and  rise.  The  people  will  again  desert. 
Or  else,  grown  wise  in  one  respect  by  experience,  the  new 
Senator  will  see  that  popular  favor  has  a  loud  voice,  but  a 
recreant  arm.  He  will,  like  the  barons,  surround  himself  by 
foreign  swords.  A  detachment  from  the  Grand  Company  will 
be  his  courtiers  ;  they  will  be  his  masters  !  To  pay  them  the 
people  must  be  taxed.  Then  the  idol  is  execrated.  No  Italian 
hand  can  govern  these  hardy  demons  of  the  North  ;  they  will 
mutiny  and  fall  away.  A  new  demagogue  will  lead  on  the  peo- 
ple, and  Rienzi  will  be  the  victim.     Mark  my  prophecy  !  " 

**  And  then  the  ^  beyoniV  to  which  you  look  ?" 

"  Utter  prostration  of  Rome,  for  new  and  long  ages  ;  God 
makes  not  two  Rienzis  ;  or,''  said  Montreal  proudly,  "  the  in- 
fusion of  a  new  life  into  the  worn-out  and  diseased  frame, — 
the  foundation  of  a  new  dynasty.  Verily,  when  I  look  around 
me,  I  believe  that  the  Ruler  of  Nations  designs  the  restoration 
of  the  South  by  the  irruptions  of  the  North  :  and  that  out  of 
the  old  Franc  and  Germanic  race  will  be  built  up  the  thrones 
of  the  future  world  !  " 


THE    LAST    OF   THE    TRIBUNES.  349 

As  Montreal  thus  spoke,  leaning  on  his  great  war-sword,  with 
his  fair  and  heroic  features — so  different,  in  their  frank,  bold, 
fearless  expression,  from  the  dark  and  wily  intellect  that 
characterizes  the  lineaments  of  the  South — eloquent  at  once 
with  enthusiasm  and  thought — he  might  have  seemed  no  unfit- 
ting representative  of  the  genius  of  that  Northern  chivalry  of 
which  he  spake.  And  Adrian  half  fancied  that  he  saw  before 
him  one  of  the  old  Gothic  scourges  of  the  Western  World. 

Their  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  a 
trumpet,  and  presently  an  officer  entering,  announced  the 
arrival  of  ambassadors  from  Florence. 

"Again  you  must  pardon  me, noble  Adrian,"  said  Montreal, 
**  and  let  me  claim  you  as  my  guest  at  least  for  to-night.  Here 
you  may  rest  secure,  and  on  parting,  my  men  shall  attend  you 
to  the  frontiers  of  whatsoever  territory  you  design  to  visit." 

Adrian,  not  sorry  to  see  more  of  a  man  so  celebrated,  ac- 
cepted the  invitation. 

Left  alone,  he  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  soon  be- 
came lost  in  his  reflections. 


CHAPTER  III. 

FAITHFUL    AND   ILL-FATED   LOVE. — THE   ASPIRATIONS  SURVIVE 

THE   AFFECTIONS. 

Since  that  fearful  hour  in  which  Adrian  Colonna  had  gazed 
upon  the  lifeless  form  of  his  adored  Irene,  the  young  Roman 
had  undergone  the  usual  vicissitudes  of  a  wandering  and  ad- 
venturous life  in  those  exciting  times.  His  country  seemed  no 
longer  dear  to  him.  His  very  rank  precluded  him  from  the 
post  he  once  aspired  to  take  in  restoring  the  liberties  of  Rome  ; 
and  he  felt  that  if  ever  such  a  revolution  could  be  consum- 
mated, it  was  reserved  for  one  in  whose  birth  and  habits  the 
people  could  feel  sympathy  and  kindred,  and  who  could  lift 
his  hand  in  their  behalf  without  becoming  the  apostate  of  his 
order  and  the  judge  of  his  own  House.  He  had  travelled 
through  various  courts,  and  served  with  renown  in  various 
fields.  Beloved  and  honored  wheresoever  he  fixed  a  tempo- 
rary home,  no  change  of  scene  had  removed  his  melancholy,  no 
new  ties  liad  chased  away  the  memory  of  the  Lost.  In  that 
era  of  passionate  and  poetical  romance,  which  Petrarch  repre- 
sented rather  than  Gr«iittd»  JUove  had  already  begun  to  assume 


35©  RIENZI, 

a  more  tender  and  sacred  character  than  it  had  hitherto  known  ; 
it  had  gradually  imbibed  tlie  divine  spirit  which  it  derives  from 
Christianity,  and  which  associates  its  sorrows  on  earth  witli  the 
vis-ions  and  hopes  of  heaven.  To  him  who  relies  upon  immor- 
tality, fidelity  to  the  dead  is  easy  ;  because  death  cannot  extin- 
guish hope,  and  the  soul  of  the  mourner  is  already  half  in  the 
world  to  come.  It  is  an  age  that  desponds  of  a  future  life — 
representing  death  as  an  eternal  separation — in  which,  if  men 
grieve  awhile  for  the  dead,  they  hasten  to  reconcile  themselves 
to  the  living.  For  true  is  the  old  aphorism,  that  love  exists  not 
without  hope.  And  all  that  romantic  worship  which  the  Her- 
mit of  Vaucluse  felt,  or  feigned,  for  Laura,  found  its  temple  in 
the  desolate  heart  of  Adrian  Colonna.  He  was  emphatically 
the  Lover  of  his  fi?ne /  Often  as,  in  his  pilgrimage  from  land 
to  land,  he  passed  the  walls  of  some  quiet  and  lonely  convent, 
he  seriously  meditated  the  solemn  vows,  and  internally  resolved 
that  the  cloister  should  receive  his  maturer  age.  The  absence 
of  years  had,  however,  in  some  degree  restored  the  dimmed 
and  shattered  affection  for  his  fatherland,  and  he  desired  once 
more  to  visit  the  city  in  which  he  had  first  beheld  Irene. 
"  Perhaps,"  he  thought,  "time  may  have  wrought  some  un- 
looked-for change  ;  and  I  may  yet  assist  to  restore  my  country." 
But  with  this  lingering  patriotism  no  ambition  was  mingled. 
In  that  heated  stage  of  action,  in  which  the  desire  of  power 
seemed  to  stir  through  every  breast,  and  Italy  had  become  the 
El  Dorado  of  wealth,  or  the  Utopia  of  empire,  to  thousands  of 
valiant  arms  and  plotting  minds,  there  was  at  least  one  breast 
that  felt  the  true  philosophy  of  the  hermit.  Adrian's  nature, 
though  gallant  and  masculine,  was  singularly  imbued  with  that 
elegance  of  temperament  which  recoils  from  rude  contact,  and 
to  which  a  lettered  and  cultivated  indolence  is  the  supremest 
luxury.  His  education,  his  experience,  and  his  intellect,  had 
placed  him  far  in  advance  of  his  age,  and  he  looked  with  a  high 
contempt  on  the  coarse  villanies  and  base  tricks  by  which 
Italian  ambition  sought  its  road  to  power.  The  rise  and  fall 
of  Rienzi,  who,  whatever  his  failings,  was  at  least  the  purest 
and  most  honorable  of  the  self-raised  princes  of  the  age,  had 
conspired  to  make  hina  despond  of  the  success  of  noble,  as  he 
recoiled  from  that  of  selfish,  aspirations.  And  the  dreamy 
melancholy  which  resulted  from  his  ill-starred  love  yet  more 
tended  to  wean  him  from  the  stale  and  hackneyed  pursuits  of 
the  world.  His  character  was  full  of  beauty  and  of  poetry  ; 
«iot  the  less  so  that  it  found  not  a  vent  for  its  emotions  in  the 
%ctu<U  occupAtion  ol  tht  f  o«t !    Pent  withirii  the«€  emotions 


THE   LASt   OF   THE   tRIRUNES.  351 

diffused  themselves  over  all  his  thoughts  and  colored  hTs  whole 
soul.  Sometimes,  in  the  blessed  abstraction  of  his  visions,  he 
pictured  to  himself  the  lot  he  might  have  chosen  had  Irene 
lived,  and  fate  united  them — far  from  the  turbulent  and  vulgar 
roar  of  Rome — but  amidst  some  yet  unpolluted  solitude  of  the 
bright  Italian  soil.  Before  his  eye  there  rose  the  lovely  land- 
scape :  the  palace  by  the  borders  of  the  waveless  lake  ;  the 
vineyards  in  the  valley  ;  the  dark  forests  waving  from  the  hill  ; 
and  that  home,  the  resort  and  refuge  of  all  the  minstrelsy  and 
love  of  Italy,  brightened  by  the  "Lampeggiar  dell' angelico 
riso,"  *  that  makes  a  paradise  in  the  face  we  love.  Often,  se- 
duced by  such  dreams  to  complete  oblivion  of  his  loss,  the 
young  wanderer  started  from  the  ideal  bliss  to  behold  around 
him  the  solitary  waste  of  way,  or  the  moonlit  tents  of  war,  or, 
worse  than  all,  the  crowds  and  revels  of  a  foreign  court. 

Whether  or  not  such  fancies  now,  for  a  moment,  allured  his 
meditations,  conjured  up,  perhaps,  by  the  name  of  Irene's 
brother,  which  never  sounded  in  his  ears  but  to  awaken 
ten  thousand  associations,  the  Colonna  remained  thought- 
ful and  absorbed,  until  he  was  disturbed  by  his  own  squire, 
who,  accompanied  by  Montreal's  servitors,  ushered  in  his 
solitary  but  ample  repast.  Flasks  of  the  richest  Florentine 
wines ;  viands  prepared  with  all  the  art  which,  alas,  Italy  has 
now  lost !  goblets  and  salvers  of  gold  and  silver,  prodigally 
wrought  with  barbaric  gems ;  attested  the  princely  luxury 
which  reigned  in  the  camp  of  the  Grand  Company.  But 
Adrian  saw  in  all  only  the  spoliation  of  his  degraded  country, 
and  felt  the  splendor  almost  as  an  insult.  His  lonely  meal 
soon  concluded,  he  became  impatient  of  the  monotony  of  his 
tent ;  and,  tempted  by  the  cool  air  of  the  descending  eve,  saun- 
tered carelessly  forth.  He  bent  his  steps  by  the  side  of  the 
brooklet  that  curved,  snakelike  and  sparkling,  by  Montreal's 
tent ;  and  finding  a  spot  somewhat  solitary  and  apart  from  the 
warlike  tenements  around,  flung  himself  by  the  margin  of  the 
stream. 

The  last  rays  of  the  sun  quivered  on  the  wave  that  danced 
musically  over  its  stony  bed  ;  and  amidst  a  little  copse  on  the 
opposite  bank  broke  the  brief  and  momentary  song  of  such 
of  the  bolder  habitants  of  that  purple  air  as  the  din  of  the 
camp  had  not  scared  from  their  green  retreat.  The  clouds  lay 
motionless  to  the  west,  in  that  sky  so  darkly  and  intensely 
blue,  never  seen  but  over  the  landscapes  that  a  Claude  or  a 
Rosa  loved  to  paint :  and  dim  and  delicious  rose-hues  gathered 

*  The  splendor  of  the  angel  smile.— Petrarch, 


35  2  R1EN2I, 

Over  the  gray  peaks  of  the  distant  Apennines.  From  afaf 
floated  the  hum  of  the  camp,  broken  by  the  neigh  of  return- 
f:ng  steeds  ;  the  blast  of  an  occasional  bugle  ;  and  at  regular 
intervals,  by  the  armod  tramp  of  the  neighboring  sentry.  And 
opposite  to  the  left  of  the  copse — upon  a  rising  ground,  matted 
with  reeds,  moss,  and  waving  shrubs — were  the  ruins  of  some 
old  Etruscan  building,  whose  name  had  perished,  whose  very 
uses  were  unknown. 

The  scene  was  so  calm  and  lovely,  as  Adrian  gazed  upon  it, 
that  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  imagine  it  at  that  very  hour  the 
haunt  of  fierce  and  banded  robbers,  among  most  of  whom  the 
very  soul  of  man  was  embruted,  and  to  all  of  whom  murder 
or  rapine  made  the  habitual  occupation  of  life. 

Still  buried  in  his  reveries,  and  carelessly  dropping  stones 
into  the  noisy  rivulet,  Adrian  was  aroused  by  the  sound  of 
steps. 

"  A  fair  spot  to  listen  to  the  lute  and  the  ballads  of  Pro- 
vence," said  the  voice  of  Montreal,  as  the  Knight  of  St.  John 
threw  himself  on  the  turf  beside  the  young  Colonna. 

*' You  retain,  then,  your  ancient  love  of  your  national  melo- 
dies," said  Adrian. 

"  Ay,  I  have  not  yet  survived  all  my  youth,"  answered  Mon- 
treal, with  a  slight  sigh.  *' But  somehow  or  other  the  strains 
that  once  pleased  my  fancy  now  go  too  directly  to  my  heart- 
So,  though  I  still  welcome  jongleur  and  minstrel,  I  bid  them 
sing  their  newest  conceits.  I  cannot  wish  ever  again  to  heat 
the  poetry  I  heard  when  I  was  young  !  " 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Adrian,  with  great  interest,  "but  fain 
would  I  have  dared,  though  a  secret  apprehension  prevented 
me  hitherto, —  fain  would  I  have  dared  to  question  you  of  that 
lovely  lady,  with  whom,  seven  years  ago,  we  gazed  at  moonlight 
upon  the  odorous  orange-groves  and  rosy  waters  of  Terracina." 

Montreal  turned  away  his  face  ;  he  laid  his  hand  on  Adrian's 
arm,  and  murmured,  in  a  deep  and  hoarse  tone,  "I  am  alone 
now  !  " 

Adrian  pressed  his  hand  in  silence.  He  felt  no  light  shock 
at  thus  learning  the  death  of  one  so  gentle,  so  lovely,  and  so 
ill-fated. 

"  The  vows  of  my  knighthood,"  continued  Montreal,  "  which 
precluded  Adeline  the  rights  of  wedlock — the  shame  of  her 
house — the  angry  grief  of  her  mother — the  wild  vicissitudes 
of  my  life,  so  exposed  to  peril — the  loss  of  her  son — all  preyed 
silently  on  her  frame.  She  did  not  die  (die  is  too  harsh  a  word!), 
but  she  drooped  away,  and  glided  into  heaven.     Even  as  on  a 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  TRIBUNES.  355 

Summer^s  morn  some  soft  dream  fleets  across  us,  growing  less 
and  less  distinct,  until  it  fades,  as  it  were,  into  light,  and  we 
awaken — so  faded  Adeline's  parting  spirit,  till  the  daylight  of 
God  broke  upon  it." 

Montreal  paused  a  moment,  and  then  resumed  :  "  These 
thoughts  make  the  boldest  of  us  weak  sometimes,  and  we  Pro- 
ven9als  are  foolish  in  these  matters  !  God  wot,  she  was  very 
dear  to  me  ! " 

The  knight  bent  down  and  crossed  himself  devoutly  ;  his  lips 
muttered  a  prayer.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  our  enlightened 
age,  so  martial  a  garb  did  morality  then  wear  that  this  man, 
at  whose  word  towns  had  blazed  and  torrents  of  blood  had 
flowed,  neither  adjudged  himself,  nor  was  adjudged  by  the 
majority  of  his  contemporaries,  a  criminal.  His  order,  half- 
monastic,  half-warlike,  was  emblematic  of  himself.  He  tramp- 
led on  man,  yet  humbled  himself  to  God  ;  nor  had  all  his 
acquaintance  with  the  refining  scepticism  of  Italy  shaken  the 
sturdy  and  simple  faith  of  the  bold  Provengal.  So  far  from 
recognizing  any  want  of  harmony  between  his  calling  and  his 
creed,  he  held  that  man  no  true  chevalier  who  was  not  as  de- 
vout to  the  Cross  as  relentless  with  the  sword. 

"And  you  have  no  child  save  the  one  you  lost?"  asked 
Adrian,  when  he  observed  the  wonted  composure  of  Montreal 
once  more  returning. 

"  None  !  "  said  Montreal,  as  his  brow  again  darkened.  "  No 
love-begotten  heir  of  mine  will  succeed  to  the  fortunes  I  trust 
yet  to  build.  Never  on  earth  shall  I  see  upon  the  face  of 
her  child  the  likeness  of  Adeline !  Yet  at  Avignon  I  saw  a 
boy  I  would  have  claimed  ;  for  methought  she  must  have 
looked  her  soul  into  his  eyes,  they  were  so  like  hers  !  Well, 
well !  the  Provence  tree  hath  other  branches ;  and  some  un- 
born nephew  must  be — what  ?  The  stars  have  not  yet  decided  ! 
But  ambition  is  now  the  only  thing  in  the  world  left  me 
to  love." 

"So  differently  operates  the  same  misfortune  upon  different 
characters,"  thought  the  Colonna.  "  To  me  crowns  become 
valueless  when  I  could  no  longer  dream  of  placing  them  on 
Irene's  brow  ! " 

The  similarity  of  their  fates,  however,  attracted  Adrian 
strongly  towards  his  host,  and  the  two  knights  conversed  to- 
gether wi:h  more  frie:idship  and  unreserve  than  they  bad 
hitherto  done  At  length  Montreal  said,  "By  the  way,  1  have 
not  yet  inquiied  your  destination." 

"I  am  bound  to  Rome,"  said  Adrian  ;  "and  the  intelligence 


3^4  ^lENZl, 

I  have  learned  from  you  incites  me  thitherward  yet  more 
eagerly.  If  Rienzi  return,  I  may  mediate  successfully,  ])er- 
chance,  between  the  Tribune-Senator  and  the  nobles  ;  if  I  find  my 
cousin,  young  Stefanello,  now  the  head  of  our  house,  more  tracta- 
ble than  his  sires,  1  shall  not  despair  of  conciliating  the  less 
powerful  barons.  Rome  wants  repose  ;  and  whoever  governs, 
if  he  govern  but  with  justice,  ought  to  be  supported  both  by 
prince  and  plebeian  !  " 

Montreal  listened  with  great  attention,  and  then  muttered  to 
himself,  "  No,  it  cannot  be  !  "  He  mused  a  little  while,  shad- 
ing his  brow  with  his  hand,  before  he  said  aloud,  *'  To  Rome 
you  are  bound.  Well,  we  shall  meet  soon  amidst  its  ruins. 
Know,  by  the  way,  that  my  object  here  is  already  won  :  these 
Florentine  merchants  have  acceded  to  my  terms ;  they  have 
purchased  a  two  years'  peace  ;  to-morrow  the  camp  breaks  up, 
and  the  Grand  Company  march  to  Lombardy.  There,  if  my 
schemes  prosper,  and  the  Venetians  pay  my  price,  I  league  the 
rascals  (under  Landau,  my  lieutenant)  with  the  Sea-City,  in 
defiance  of  the  Visconti,  and  shall  pass  my  autumn  in  peace 
amidst  the  pomps  of  Rome." 

"  Sir  Walter  de  Montreal,"  said  Adrian,  "  your  frankness 
perhaps  makes  me  presumptuous;  but  when  I  hear  you  talk, 
like  a  huxtering  trader,  of  selling  alike  your  friendship  and 
your  forbearance,  I  ask  myself,  '  Is  this  the  great  knight  of  St. 
John;  and  have  men  spoken  of  him  fairly,  when  they  assert  the 
sole  stain  on  his  laurels  to  be  his  avarice  ? ' " 

Montreal  bit  his  lip ;  nevertheless,  he  answered  calmly,  "  My 
frankness  has  brought  its  own  penance,  Lord  Adrian.  How- 
ever, I  cannot  wholly  leave  so  honored  a  guest  under  an  im- 
pression which  I  feel  to  be  plausible,  but  not  just.  No,  brave 
Colonna  ;  report  wrongs  me.  I  value  gold,  for  Gold  is  the 
Architect  of  Power  !  It  fills  the  camp — it  storms  the  city — it 
buys  the  market-place — it  raises  the  palace — if  founds  the 
throne.     I  value  Gold, — it  is  the  means  necessary  to  my  end  !  " 

"  And  that  end—" 

"  Is — no  matter  what,"  said  the  knight  coldly.  "  Let  us  to 
our  tents  ;  the  dews  fall  heavily,  and  the  malaria  floats  over 
these  houseless  wastes." 

The  pair  rose ;  yet  fascinated  by  the  beauty  of  the  hour,  they 
lingered  for  a  moment  by  the  brook.  The  earliest  stars  shone 
over  its  crisping  wavelets,  and  a  delicious  breeze  murmured 
gently  amidst  the  glossy  herbage. 

"Thus  gazing,"  said  Montreal  softly,  "we  reverse  the  old 
Hedusan  fable  the  poets  tell  us  of,  and  look  and  muse  ourselves 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  355 

out  of  stone.  A  little  while,  and  it  was  the  sunlight  that  gilded 
the  wave  ;  it  now  sliines  as  brightly  and  glides  as  gaily  beneath 
the  stars;  even  so  rolls  the  stream  of  time :  one  luminary 
succeeds  the  other  equally  welcomed — equally  illumining — 
equally  evanescent  !  You  see,  the  poetry  of  Provence  still  lives 
beneath  my  mail  !  " 

Adrian  early  sought  his  couch  ;  but  his  own  thoughts  and  the 
sounds  of  loud  mirth  that  broke  from  Montreal's  tent,  where 
the  chief  feasted  the  captains  of  his  bands — a  fevel  from  which 
he  had  the  delicacy  to  excuse  the  Roman  noble — kept  the 
Colonna  long  awake ;  and  he  had  scarcely  fallen  into  an  un- 
quiet slumber  when  yet  more  discordant  sounds  again  invaded 
his  repose.  At  the  earliest  dawn  the  wide  armament  was 
astir — the  creaking  of  cordage — the  tramp  of  men — loud  orders 
and  louder  oaths — the  slow  rolling  of  baggage-wains — and  the 
clank  of  the  armorers,  announced  the  removal  of  the  camp,  and 
the  approaching  departure  of  the  Grand  Company. 

Ere  Adrian  was  yet  attired,  Montreal  entered  his  tent. 

"  I  have  appointed,"  he  said,  "  five  score  lances,  under  a 
trusted  leader,  to  accompany  you,  noble  Adrian,  to  the  borders 
of  Romagna  ,  they  wait  your  leisure.  In  another  hour  I  depart ; 
the  on-guard  are  already  in  motion." 

Adrian  would  fain  have  declined  the  proffered  escort  ;  but 
he  saw  that  it  would  only  offend  the  pride  of  the  chief,  who 
soon  retired.  Hastily  Adrian  endued  his  arms  ;  the  air  of  the 
fresh  morning,  and  the  glad  sun  rising  gorgeously  from  the 
hills,  revived  his  wearied  spirit.  He  repaired  to  Montreal's 
tent,  and  found  him  alone,  with  the  implements  of  writing 
before  him,  and  a  triumphant  smile  upon  his  countenance. 

*'  Fortune  showers  new  favors  on  me !  "  he  said  gaily. 
'*  Yesterday  the  Florentines  spared  me  the  trouble  of  a  siege  : 
and  to-day  (even  since  I  last  saw  you — a  few  minutes  since) 
puts  your  new  Senator  of  Rome  into  my  power." 

"  How  •  have  your  bands  then  arrested  Rienzi  ?  " 

*'  Not  so — better  still  \  The  Tribune  changed  his  plan,  and 
repaired  to  Perugia,  where  my  brothers  now  abide — sought 
them — they  have  supplied  him  with  money  and  soldiers 
enough  to  brave  the  perils  of  the  way,  and  to  defy  the  swords 
of  the  barons.  So  writes  my  good  brother  Arimbaldo,  a  man 
^f  letters,  whom  the  Tribune  thinks  rightly  he  has  decoyed 
with  old  tales  of  Roman  greatness,  and  mighty  promises  of 
grateful  advancement.  You  find  me  hastily  expressing  my 
content  at  the  arrangcmeni.  My  brothers  themselves  will 
%««9m|^ny  tht  SenAt^^Tfibune  to  the  walls  of  the  Capitol" 


356  RIENZI, 

"  Still,  I  see  not  how  this  places  Rienzi  in  your  power. '^ 

"No!  His  soldiers  are  my  creatures;  his  comrades  my 
brothers  ;  his  creditor  myself !  Let  him  rule  Rome  then  ; 
the  time  soon  comes  when  the  Vice-Regent  must  yield  to — " 

"  The  Chief  of  the  Grand  Company,"  interrupted  Adrian, 
with  a  shudder,  which  the  bold  Montreal  was  too  engrossed 
with  the  unconcealed  excitement  of  his  own  thoughts  to  notice. 
*'  No,  Knight  of  Provence,  basely  have  we  succumbed  to  do- 
mestic tyrants  :  but  never,  I  trust,  will  Romans  be  so  vile  as  to 
wear  the  yoke  of  a  foreign  usurper," 

Montreal  looked  hard  at  Adrian,  and  smiled  sternly. 

"  You  mistake  me,"  said  he  ;  *'  and  it  will  be  time  enough 
for  you  to  play  the  Brutus  when  I  assume  the  Caesar.  Mean- 
while we  are  but  host  and  guest.     Let  us  change  the  theme." 

Nevertheless  this,  their  latter  conference,  threw  a  chill  over 
both  during  the  short  time  the  knights  remained  together,  and 
they  parted  with  a  formality  which  was  ill-suited  to  their 
friendly  intercourse  of  the  night  before.  Montreal  felt  he  had 
incautiously  revealed  himself  ;  but  caution  was  no  part  of  his 
character,  whenever  he  found  himself  at  the  head  of  an  army, 
and  at  the  full  tide  of  fortune;  and  at  that  moment,  so  confi- 
dent was  he  of  the  success  of  his  wildest  schemes,  that  he 
recked  little  whom  he  offended,  or  whom  alarmed. 

Slowly,  with  his  strange  and  ferocious  escort,  Adrian  renewed 
his  way.  Winding  up  a  steep  ascent  that  led  from  the  plain, 
when  he  reached  the  summit,  the  curve  in  the  road  showed 
him  the  whole  army  on  its  march  :  the  gonfalons  waving  ;  the 
armor  flashing  in  the  sun,  line  after  line,  like  a  river  of  steel, 
and  the  whole  plain  bristling  with  the  array  of  that  moving 
war  ;  while  the  solemn  tread  of  the  armed  thousands  fell  sub- 
dued and  stifled  at  times  by  martial  and  exulting  music.  As 
they  swept  on,  Adrian  descried  at  length  the  stately  and  tower- 
ing form  of  Montreal  upon  a  black  charger,  distinguished  even 
at  that  distance  from  the  rest,  not  more  by  his  gorgeous  armor 
than  his  lofty  stature.  So  swept  he  on  in  the  pride  of  his  array- 
in  the  flush  of  his  hopes — the  head  of  a  mighty  armament — 
the  terror  of  Italy — the  hero  that  was — the  monarch  that 
might  be  1 


tHE  LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES,  357 

BOOK  IX. 

THE  RETURN. 

**  Allora  la  sua  venuta  fu  a  Roma  sentita  ;  Romani  si  apparecchiavano  a 
riceverlo  con  letizia  ....  furo  fatti  archi  trionfali,"etc.,  etc.- — Vita  di  Cola 
di  Ritnzi,  lib.  ii.,  c.  17, 

**  Then  the  fame  of  his  coming  was  felt  at  Rome  ;  the  Romans  made  ready 
to  receive  him  with  gladness  .  »  .  .  triumphal  arches  were  erected,"  etc., 
etc, — Life  of  Cola  di  Rienzi, 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   TRIUMPHAL   ENTRANCE. 

All  Rome  was  astir !  from  St.  Angelo  to  the  Capitol  win- 
dows, balconies,  roofs,  were  crowded  with  animated  thousands. 
Only  here  and  there,  in  the  sullen  quarters  of  the  Colonna,  the 
Orsini,  and  the  Savelli,  reigned  a  death-like  solitude  and  a 
dreary  gloom.  In  those  fortifications,  rather  than  streets,  not 
even  the  accustomed  tread  of  the  barbarian  sentinel  was 
heard.  The  gates  closed,  the  casements  barred,  the  grim 
silence  around,  attested  the  absence  of  the  barons.  They  had 
left  the  city  so  soon  as  they  had  learned  the  certain  approach 
of  Rienzi.  In  the  villages  and  castles  of  the  Campagna,  sur- 
rounded by  their  mercenaries,  they  awaited  the  hour  when  the 
people,  weary  of  their  idol,  should  welcome  back  even  those 
ierocious  iconoclasts. 

With  these  exceptions,  all  Rome  was  astir !  Triumphal 
arches  of  drapery,  wrought  with  gold  and  silver,  raised  at  every 
principal  vista,  were  inscribed  with  mottoes  of  welcome  and 
rejoicing.  At  frequent  intervals  stood  youths  and  maidens, 
with  baskets  of  flowers  and  laurels.  High  above  the  assembled 
multitudes — from  the  proud  tower  of  Hadrian — from  the  tur- 
rets of  the  Capitol — from  the  spires  of  the  sacred  buildings 
dedicated  to  Apostle  and  to  Saint — floated  banners  as  for  a 
victory.  Rome  once  more  opened  her  arms  to  receive  her 
Tribune  ! 

Mingled  with  the  crowd — disguised  by  his  large  mantle  ; 
hidden  by  the  pressure  of  the  throng  ;  his  person,  indeed,  for- 
gotten by  most,  and,  in  the  confusion  of  the  moment,  heeded 
by  none — stood  Adrian  Colonna!     He  had  not   been   abl»   to 


358  RlENZT, 

conquer  his  interest  for  the  brother  of  Irene.  Solitary  amidst 
his  fellow-citizens,  he  stood,  the  only  one  of  the  proud  race  of 
Colonna  who  witnessed  the  triumph  of  the  darling  of  the 
people. 

*'  They  say  he  has  grown  large  in  his  prison,"  said  one  of 
the  bystanders  ;  "  he  was  lean  enough  when  he  came  by  day- 
break out  of  the  Church  of  St.  Angelo  !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  another,  a  little  man,  with  a  shrewd,  restless  eye, 
"  they  say  truly  ;  I  saw  him  take  leave  of  the  Legate." 

Every  eye  was  turned  to  the  last  speaker  ;  he  became  at 
once  a  personage  of  importance.  "  Yes,"  continued  the  little  man, 
with  an  elated  and  pompous  air,  *'  as  soon,  d'ye  see,  as  he  had 
prevailed  on  Messere  Brettone,  and  Messere  Arimbaldo,  the 
brothers  of  Fra  Moreale,  to  accompany  him  from  Perugia  to 
Monte  Fiascone,  he  went  at  once  to  the  Legate  d'Albornoz, 
who  was  standing  in  the  open  air  conversing  with  his  captains. 
A  crowd  followed.  I  was  one  of  them  ;  and  the  Tribune 
nodded  at  me — ay,  that  did  he  ! — and  so,  with  his  scarlet 
cloak,  and  his  scarlet  cap,  he  faced  the  proud  Cardinal  with  a 
pride  greater  than  his  own.  *  Monsignore,'  said  he,  *  though 
you  accord  me  neither  money  nor  arms,  to  meet  the  dangers  of 
the  road  and  brave  the  ambush  of  the  barons,  I  am  prepared 
to  depart.  Senator  of  Rome  his  Holiness  hath  made  me  :  ac- 
cording to  custom,  I  pray  you,  Monsignore,  forthwith  to  con- 
firm the  rank,'  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  how  the  proud 
Spaniard  stared,  and  blushed,  and  frowned  ;  but  he  bit  his  lip, 
and  said  little." 

"And  confirmed  Rienzi  Senator?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  blessed  him,  and  bade  him  depart." 

"  Senator  !  "  said  a  stalwart  but  gray-headed  giant  with 
folded  arms  ;  "  I  like  not  a  title  that  has  been  borne  by  a 
patrician.     I  fear  me,  in  the  new  title  he  will  forget  the  old." 

"Fie,  Cecco  del  Vecchio,  you  were  always  a  grumbler !  " 
said  a  merchant  of  cloth,  w^hose  commodity  the  ceremonial 
had  put  in  great  request.  "  Fie  !  For  my  part,  I  think  Sen- 
ator a  less  new-fangled  title  than  Tribune.  I  hope  there  will 
be  feasting  enow,  at  least.  Rome  has  been  long  dull.  A  bad 
time  for  trade,  I  warrant  me  !  " 

The  artisan  grinned  scornfully.  He  was  one  of  those  who 
distinguished  between  the  middle  class  and  the  working,  and 
he  loathed  a  merchant  as  much  as  he  did  a  noble.  "  The  day 
wears,"  said  the  little  man;  "he  must  be  here  anon.  The 
Senator's  lady,  and  all  his  train,  have  gone  forth  to  meet  him 
these  two  hours." 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  359 

Scarce  were  these  words  uttered  when  the  crowd  to  the  right 
swayed  restlessly  ;  and  presently  a  horseman  rode  rapidly 
through  the  street.  '*  Way  there  !  Keep  back  !  Way — make 
way  for  the  Most  Illustrious  the  Senator  of  Rome  I  " 

The  crowd  became  hushed — then  murmuring — then  hushed 
again.  From  balcony  and  casement  stretched  the  neck  of 
every  gazer.  The  tramp  of  steeds  was  heard  at  a  distance  ;  the 
sound  of  clarion  and  trumpet  ;  then,  gleaming  through  the  dis- 
tant curve  of  the  streets,  was  seen  the  wave  of  the  gonfalons; 
then,  the  glitter  of  the  spears ;  and  then  from  the  whole  multi- 
tude, as  from  one  voice,  arose  the  shout,  "  He  comes  !  he 
comes  !  " 

Adrian  shrunk  yet  more  backward  amongst  the  throng  ;  and, 
leaning  against  the  wall  of  one  of  the  houses,  contemplated  the 
approaching  pageant. 

First  came,  six  abreast,  the  procession  of  Roman  horsemen 
who  had  gone  forth  to  meet  the  Senator,  bearing  boughs  of 
olive  in  their  hands  ;  each  hundred  preceded  by  banners,  in- 
scribed with  the  words,  "  Liberty  and  Peace  restored."  As 
these  passed  the  group  by  Adrian,  each  more  popular  citizen  of 
the  cavalcade  was  recognized,  and  received  with  loud  shouts. 
By  the  garb  and  equipment  of  the  horsemen  Adrian  saw  that 
they  belonged  chiefly  to  the  traders  of  Rome  ;  a  race  who,  he 
well  knew,  unless  strangely  altered,  valued  liberty  only  as  a 
commercial  speculation.  "A  vain  support  these,"  thought  the 
Colonna  ;  "what  next?"  On,  then,  came  in  glittering  armor 
the  German  mercenaries,  hired  by  the  gold  of  the  brothers  of 
Provence,  in  number  two  hundred  and  fifty,  and  previously  in 
the  pay  of  Malatesta  of  Rimini ;  tall,  stern,  sedate,  disciplined, 
eyeing  the  crowd  with  a  look,  half  of  barbarian  wonder,  half 
of  insolent  disdain.  No  shout  of  gratulation  welcomed  these 
sturdy  strangers  ;  it  was  evident  that  their  aspect  cast  a  chill 
over  the  assembly. 

"Shame  I  "  growled  Cecco  del  Vecchio  audibly.  "Has  the 
people's  friend  need  of  the  swords  which  guard  an  Orsini  or  a 
Malatesta?     Shame!" 

No  voice  this  time  silenced  the  huge  malcontent. 

"  His  only  real  defence  against  the  barons,"  thought  Adrian, 
"if  he  pay  them  well  !     But  their  number  is  not   sufficient  !  " 

Next  came  two  hundred  fantassins,  or  foot-soldiers,  of  Tus- 
cany, with  the  corselets  and  arms  of  the  heavy-armed  soldiery — 
a  gallant  company,  and  whose  cheerful  looks  and  familiar 
bearing  appeared  to  sympathize  with  the  crowd.  And  in  truth 
they  did   so,  for  they  were  Tuscans,  and  therefore  lovers  of 


360  RIENZI, 

freedom.  In  them,  too,  the  Romans  seemed  to  recognize 
natural  and  legitimate  allies,  and  there  was  a  general  cry  of 
**Vivano  i  bravi  Toscani !  " 

<*Poor  defence  !"  thought  the  more  sagacious  Colonna ; 
*'the  barons  can  awe,  and  the  mob  corrupt  them." 

Next  came  a  file  ot  trumpeters  and  standard-bearers ;  and 
/low  the  sound  of  the  music  was  drowned  by  shouts,  which 
seemed  to  rise  simultaneously  as  from  every  quarter  of  the 
city  :  "  Rienzi  !  Rienzi !  Welcome,  welcome  !  Liberty  and 
Rienzi  !  Rienzi  and  the  Good  Estate!"  Flowers  dropped 
on  his  path,  kerchiefs  and  banners  waved  from  every  house  ; 
\ears  might  be  seen  coursing,  unheeded,  down  bearded  cheeks  ; 
youth  and  age  were  kneeling  together,  with  uplifted  hands, 
invoking  blessings  on  the  head  of  the  Restored.  On  he  came, 
the  Senator-Tribune,  "  the  PhcEnix  to  his  pyre!'' 

Robed  in  scarlet  that  literally  blazed  with  gold,  his  proud 
head  bared  in  the  sun,  and  bending  to  the  saddle  bow,  Rienzi 
passed  slowly  through  the  throng.  Not  in  the  flush  of  that 
hour  were  visible,  on  his  glorious  countenance,  the  signs  of 
disease  and  care  ;  the  very  enlargement  of  his  proportions  gave 
a  greater  majesty  to  his  mien.  Hope  sparkled  in  his  eye  ;  tri- 
umph and  empire  sat  upon  his  brow.  The  crowd  could  not 
contain  themselves  ;  they  pressed  forward,  each  upon  each, 
anxious  to  catch  the  glance  of  his  eye,  to  touch  the  hem  of 
his  robe.  He  himself  was  deeply  affected  by  their  joy.  He 
halted  ;  with  faltering  and  broken  words  he  attempted  to  ad-' 
dress  them.  "  I  am  repaid,"  he  said, — ''  repaid  for  all  ;  may  I 
live  to  make  you  happy." 

The  crowd  parted  again,  the  Senator  moved  on  ;  again  the 
crowd  closed  in.  Behind  the  Tribune,  to  their  excited  imag- 
ination, seemed  to  move  the  very  goddess  of  ancient  Rome. 

Upon  a  steed,  caparisoned  with  cloth  of  gold  ;  in  snow-white 
robes,  studded  with  gems  that  flashed  back  the  day,  came  the 
beautiful  and  regal  Nina.  The  memory  of  her  pride,  her  os- 
tentation, all  forgotten  in  that  moment,  she  was  scarce  less 
welcome,  scarce  less  idolized,  than  her  lord.  And  her  smile, 
all  radiant  with  joy,  her  lip  quivering  with  proud  and  elate 
emotion,  never  had  she  seemed  at  once  so  born  alike  for  love 
and  for  command — a  Zenobia  passing  through  the  pomp  of 
Rome,  not  a  captive,  but  a  queen. 

But  not  upon  that  stately  form  riveted  the  gaze  of  Adrian  ; 
pale,  breathless,  trembling,  he  clung  to  the  walls  against  which 
he  leaned.  Was  it  a  dream  ?  Had  the  dead  revived  ?  Or 
V\r?is  it  his  own — his  living  Irene — whose  soft  and  melancholy 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  361 

loveliness  shone  sadly  by  the  side  of  Nina — a  star  beside  the 
moon  !  The  pageant  faded  from  his  eyes ;  all  grew  dim  and 
dark.  For  a  moment  he  was  insensible.  When  he  recovered, 
the  crowd  was  hurrying  along,  confused  and  blent  with  the 
mighty  stream  that  followed  the  procession.  Through  the 
moving  multitude  he  caught  the  graceful  form  of  Irene,  again 
snatched  by  the  closing  standards  of  the  procession  from  his 
view.  His  blood  rushed  back  from  his  heart  through  every 
vein.  He  was  as  a  man  who  for  years  had  been  in  a  fearful 
trance,  and  who  is  suddenly  awakened  to  the  light  of  heaven. 

One  of  that  mighty  throng  remained  motionless  with  Adrian. 
It  was  Cecco  del  Vecchio. 

"Zr<?  did  not  see  me^"  muttered  the  smith  to  himself;  ^^old friends 
are  fo: gotten  now  !  Well,  well,  Cecco  del  Vecchio  hates  tyrants 
still,  no  matter  what  their  name,  nor  how  smoothly  they  are 
disguised.     He  did  not  see  me  !     Umph  !  " 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE     MASQUERADE. 

The  acuter  reader  has  already  learned,  without  the  absolute 
intervention  of  the  author  as  narrator,  the  incidents  occurring 
to  Rienzi  in  the  interval  between  his  acquittal  at  Avignon  and 
his  return  to  Rome.  As  the  impression  made  by  Nina  upon 
the  softer  and  better  nature  of  Albornoz  died  away,  he  natur- 
ally began  to  consider  his  guest — as  the  profound  politicians  of 
that  day  ever  considered  men — a  piece  upon  the  great  chess- 
board, to  be  moved,  advanced,  or  sacrificed,  as  best  suited  the 
scheme  in  view.  His  purpose  accomplished,  in  the  recovery 
of  the  patrimonial  territory,  the  submission  of  John  di  Vico, 
and  the  fall  and  death  of  the  demagogue  Baroncelli,  the  Car- 
dinal deemed  it  far  from  advisable  to  restore  to  Rome,  and 
with  so  high  a  dignity,  the  able  and  ambitious  Rienzi.  Before 
the  daring  Roman,  even  his  own  great  spirit  quailed  ;  and  he 
was  wholly  unable  to  conceive  or  to  calculate  the  policy  that 
might  be  adopted  by  the  new  Senator,  when  once  more  Lord 
of  Rome.  Without  affecting  to  detain,  he  therefore  declined 
to  assist  in  restoring  him.  And  Rienzi  thus  saw  himself  within 
an  easy  march  of  Rome,  without  one  soldier  to  protect  him 
against  the  barons  by  the  way.  But  Heaven  had  decreed  that 
liQ  single  man,  hovyeyer  gifted,  or  however  powerful,  should 


362  RIENZI, 

long  counteract  or  master  the  destinies  of  Rienzi :  and  perhaps 
in  no  more  glittering  scene  of  his  life  did  he  ever  evince  so 
dexterous  and  subtle  an  intellect  as  he  now  did  in  extricating 
himself  from  the  wiles  of  the  Cardinal.  Repairing  to  Perugia, 
he  had,  as  we  have  seen,  procured,  through  the  brothers  of 
Montreal,  men  and  money  for  his  return.  But  the  Knight  of 
St.  John  was  greatly  mistaken,  if  he  imagined  that  Rienzi  was 
not  thoroughly  aware  of  the  perilous  and  treacherous  tenure  of 
the  support  he  had  received.  His  keen  eye  read  at  a  glance 
the  aims  and  the  characters  of  the  brothers  of  Montreal ;  he 
knew  that,  while  affecting  to  serve  him,  they  designed  to  con- 
trol ;  that,  made  the  debtor  of  the  grasping  and  aspiring  Mont- 
real, and  surrounded  by  the  troops  conducted  by  Montreal's 
brethren,  he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  net  which,  if  not  broken, 
would  soon  involve  fortune  and  life  itself  in  its  fatal  and  deadly 
meshes.  But,  confident  in  the  resources  and  promptitude  of 
his  own  genius,  he  yet  sanguinely  trusted  to  make  those  his 
puppets,  who  dreamed  that  he  was  their  own;  and,  with  empire 
for  the  stake,  he  cared  not  how  crafty  the  antagonists  he  was 
compelled  to  engage. 

Meanwhile,  uniting  to  all  his  rasher  and  all  his  nobler  qual- 
ities a  profound  dissimulation,  he  appeared  to  trust  implicitly 
to  his  Provencal  companions  ;  and  his  first  act  on  entering  the 
Capitol,  after  the  triumphal  procession,  was  to  reward  with  the 
highest  dignities  in  his  gift  Messere  Arimbaldo  and  Messere 
Brettone  de  Montreal  ! 

H  igh  feasting  was  there  that  night  in  the  halls  of  the  Capitol ; 
but  dearer  to  Rienzi  than  all  the  pomp  of  the  day  were  the 
smiles  of  Nina.  Her  proud  and  admiring  eyes,  swimming  with 
delicious  tears,  fixed  upon  his  countenance,  she  but  felt  that 
they  were  reunited,  and  that  the  hours,  however  brilliantly 
illumined,  were  hastening  to  that  moment  when,  after  so 
desolate  and  dark  an  absence,  they  might  once  more  be  alone. 

Far  other  the  thoughts  of  Adrian  Colonna,  as  he  sate  alone 
in  the  dreary  palace  in  the  yet  more  dreary  quarter  of  his 
haughty  race.  Irene  then  was  alive  ;  he  had  been  deceived  by 
some  strange  error ;  she  had  escaped  the  devouring  pestilence; 
and  something  in  the  pale  sadness  of  her  gentle  features,  even 
in  that  day  of  triumph,  told  him  he  was  still  remembered.  But 
as  his  mind  by  degrees  calmed  itself  from  its  first  wild  and 
tumultuous  rapture,  he  could  not  help  asking  himself  the  ques- 
tion whether  they  were  not  still  to  be  divided  !  Stefanello 
Colonna,  the  grandson  of  the  old  Stephen,  and  (by  the  death 
Qf  hi§  sire  *^n4  brother)  the  youthful  bead  of  that  powerful 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  363 

House,  had  already  raised  his  standard  against  the  Senator. 
Fortifying  himself  in  the  ahnost  impregnable  fastness  of  Pales- 
trina,  he  had  assembled  around  him  all  the  retainers  of  his 
family,  and  his  lawless  soldiery  now  ravaged  the  neighboring 
plains  far  and  wide. 

Adrian  foresaw  that  the  lapse  of  a  few  days  would  suffice  tc 
bring  the  Colonna  and  the  Senator  to  open  war.  Could  he 
take  part  against  those  of  his  own  blood  ?  The  very  circum- 
stance of  his  love  for  Irene  would  yet  more  rob  such  a  pro- 
ceeding of  all  appearance  of  disinterested  patriotism,  and  yet 
more  deeply  and  irremediably  stain  his  knightly  fame,  v/hcr 
ever  the  sympathy  of  his  equals  was  enlisted  with  the  causo  of 
the  Colonna.  On  the  other  hand,  not  only  his  love  for  the 
Senator's  sister,  but  his  own  secret  inclinations  and  honest 
convictions,  were  on  the  side  of  one  who  alone  seemed  to  him 
possessed  of  the  desire  and  the  genius  to  repress  the  disorders 
of  his  fallen  city.  Long  meditating,  he  feared  no  alternative 
was  left  him  but  in  the  same  cruel  neutrality  to  which  he  had 
been  before  condemned  ;  but  he  resolved  at  least  to  make  the 
attempt — rendered  favorable  and  dignified  by  his  birth  and 
reputation — to  reconcile  the  contending  parties.  To  effect  this, 
he  saw  that  he  must  begin  with  his  haughty  cousin.  He  was 
well  aware  that  were  it  known  that  he  had  first  obtained  an 
interview  with  Rienzi  ;  did  it  appear  as  if  he  were  charged 
with  overtures  from  the  Senator, — although  Stefanello  himself 
might  be  inclined  to  yield  to  his  representations,  the  insolent 
and  ferocious  barons  who  surrounded  him  would  not  deign  to 
listen  to  the  envoy  of  the  People's  chosen  one  ;  and  instead  of 
being  honored  as  an  intercessor,  he  should  be  suspected  as  a 
traitor.  He  determined,  then,  to  depart  for  Palestrina  ;  but 
(and  his  heart  beat  audibly)  would  it  not  be  possible  first  to 
obtain  an  interview  with  Irene  ?  It  was  no  easy  enterprise, 
surrounded  as  she  was,  but  he  resolved  to  adventure  it.     He 

j summoned  Giulio. 

i      "  The  Senator  holds  a  festival  this  evening — think  you  that 
the  assemblage  will  be  numerous  ? " 

*'  I  hear,"  answered  Giulio,  "  that  the  banquet  given  to  the 
ambassadors  and  signors  to-day  is  to  be  followed  to-morrow 
by  a  mask,  to  which  all  ranks  are  admitted.  By  Bacchus,*  if 
the  Tribune  only  invited  nobles,  the  smallest  closet  in  the  Cap- 
itol would  suffice  to  receive  his  maskers.  I  suppose  a  mask 
has  been  resolved  on  in  order  to  disguise  the  quality  of  the 
visitors." 

*  Still  a  common  Roman  expletivCi 


364  RIENZI. 

A-drian  mused  a  moment ;  and  the  result  of  his  revery  was  a 
determination  to  delay  for  another  sun  his  departure  for  Pales- 
trina  ;  to  take  advantage  of  the  nature  of  the  revel,  and  to  join 
the  masquerade. 

That  species  of  entertainment,  though  unusual  at  that  season 
of  the  year,  had  been  preferred  by  Rienzi,  partly  and  ostensi- 
bly because  it  was  one  in  which  all  his  numerous  and  motley 
supporters  could  be  best  received  ;  bu>t  chiefly  and  secretly  be- 
cause it  afforded  himself  and  his  confidential  friends  the  occa- 
sion to  mix  unsuspected  amongst  the  throng,  and  learn  more  of 
the  real  anticipations  of  the  Romans  with  respect  to  his  policy 
and  his  strength,  than  could  well  be  gathered  from  the  enthusiasm 
of  a  public  spectacle. 

The  following  night  was  beautifully  serene  and  clear.  The 
better  to  accommodate  the  numerous  guests,  and  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  warm  and  moonlit  freshness  of  the  air,  the  open 
court  of  the  Capitol,  with  the  Place  of  the  Lion  (as  well  as  the 
state  apartments  within),  was  devoted  to  the  festival. 

As  Adrian  entered  the  festive  court  with  the  rush  of  the 
throng,  it  chanced  that  in  the  eager  impatience  of  some  mask- 
ers, more  vehement  than  the  rest,  his  vizard  was  deranged. 
He  hastily  replaced  it ;  but  not  before  one  of  the  guests  had 
recognized  his  countenance. 

From  courtesy  Rienzi  and  his  family  remained  at  first  un- 
masked. They  stood  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  to  which  the  old 
Egyptian  Lion  gave  the  name.  The  lights  shone  over  that 
Colossal  Monument,  which,  torn  from  its  antique  home,  had 
witnessed,  in  its  grim  repose,  the  rise  and  lapse  of  countless 
generations,  and  the  dark  and  stormy  revolutions  of  avenging 
fate.  It  was  an  ill  omen,  always  afterwards  remarked,  that  the 
place  of  that  state  festival  was  the  place  also  of  the  state  exe- 
cutions. But  at  that  moment,  as  group  after  group  pressed 
forward  to  win  smile  and  word  from  the  celebrated  man  whose 
fortunes  had  been  the  theme  of  Europe,  or  to  bend  in  homage 
to  the  lustrous  loveliness  of  Nina,  no  omen  and  no  warning 
clouded  the  universal  gladness. 

Behind  Nina,  well  contented  to  shrink  from  the  gaze  of  the 
throng,  and  to  feel  her  softer  beauty  eclipsed  by  the  dazzling 
and  gorgeous  charms  of  her  brother's  wife,  stood  Irene. 
Amidst  the  crowd  on  her  alone  Adrian  fixed  his  eyes.  The 
years  which  had  flown  over  the  fair  brow  of  the  girl  of  sixteen — 
then  animated  by,  yet  trembling  beneath,  the  first  wild  breath 
of  Love  ;  youth  in  every  vein  ;  passion  and  childish  tenderness 
in  every  thought — had  not  marred,  but  they  had  changed,  the 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  365 

character  of  Irene's  beauty.  Her  cheek,  no  longer  varying 
with  every  instant,  was  settled  into  a  delicate  and  thoughtful 
paleness  ;  her  form,  more  rounded  to  the  proportions  of  Roman 
beauty,  had  assumed  an  air  of  dignified  and  calm  repose.  No 
longer  did  the  restless  eye  wander  in  search  of  some  imagined 
object ;  no  longer  did  the  lips  quiver  into  smiles  at  some  un- 
told hope  or  half-unconscious  recollection.  A  grave  and 
mournful  expression  gave  to  her  face  (still  how  sweet !)  a  grav- 
ity beyond  her  years.  The  bloom,  the  flush,  the  April  of  the 
heart,  was  gone;  but  yet  neither  time,  norsorrow,  nor  blighted 
love,  had  stolen  from  her  countenance  its  rare  and  angelic 
softness,  nor  that  inexpressible  and  virgin  modesty  of  form  and 
aspect,  which,  contrasting  the  bolder  beauties  of  Italy,  had 
more  than  aught  else  distinguished  to  Adrian,  from  all  other 
women,  the  idol  of  his  heart.  And  feeding  his  gaze  upon  those 
dark,  deep  eyes,  which  spoke  of  thought  far  away  and  busy 
with  the  past,  Adrian  felt  again  and  again  that  he  was  not  for- 
gotten !  Hovering  near  her,  but  suffering  the  crowd  to  press 
one  after  another  before  him,  he  did  not  perceive  that  he  had 
attracted  the  eagle  eye  of  the  Senator. 

In  fact,  as  one  of  the  maskers  passed  Rienzi,  he  whispered, 
"Beware,  a  Colonna  is  among  the  masks!  beneath  the  revel- 
ler's domino  has  often  lurked  the  assassin's  dagger.  Yonder 
stands  your  foe — mark  him  !  " 

These  words  were  the  first  sharp  and  thrilling  intimation  of 
the  perils  into  which  he  had  rushed  that  the  Tribune-Senator 
had  received  since  his  return.  He  changed  color  slightly ; 
and  for  some  minutes  the  courtly  smile  and  ready  greeting  with 
which  he  had  hitherto  delighted  every  guest  gave  way  to  a 
moody  abstraction. 

"Why  stands  yon  strange  man  so  mute  and  motionless?" 
whispered  he  to  Nina.  *'  He  speaks  to  none  ;  he  approaches 
us  not — a  churl,  a  churl  !     He  must  be  seen  to." 

"Doubtless,  some  German  or  English  barbarian,"  answered 
Nina.  "  Let  not,  my  lord,  so  slight  a  cloud  dim  your  merri- 
ment." 

"  You  are  right,  dearest ;  we  have  friends  here  ;  we  are  well 
girt.  And,  by  my  father's  ashes,  I  feel  that  I  must  accustom 
myself  to  danger.  Nina,  let  us  move  on  ;  methinks  we  might 
now  mix  among  the  maskers — masked  ourselves." 

The  music  played  loud  and  cheerily  as  the  Senator  and  his 
party  mingled  with  the  throng.  But  still  his  eye  turned  ever 
towards  the  gray  domino  of  Adrian,  and  he  perceived  that  it 
followed  hii  Bteps^     Approaching  the  privatt  «?ritrAnQe  of  ih« 


$66  RTENZI, 

Capitol,  he  for  a  few  moments  lost  sight  of  his  unwelcome  pur« 
suer  :  but  just  as  he  entered,  turning  abruptly,  Rienzi  perceived 
him  close  at  his  side — the  next  moment  the  stranger  had  van- 
ished amidst  the  throng.  But  that  moment  had  sufficed  to 
Adrian  ;  he  had  reached  Irene.  "  Adrian  Colonna  (he  whis- 
pered) waits  thee  beside  the  Lion." 

In  the  absorption  of  his  own  reflections  Rienzi  fortunately 
did  not  notice  the  sudden  paleness  and  agitation  of  his  sister. 
Entered  within  his  palace,  he  called  for  wine — the  draught  re- 
vived his  spirits;  he  listened  smilingly  to  the  sparkling  remarks 
of  Nina ;  and  enduing  his  mask  and  disguise,  said  with  his 
wonted  cheerfulness,  "  Now  for  Truth — strange  that  in  festi- 
vals it  should  only  speak  behind  a  vizard  !  My  sweet  sister, 
thou  hast  lost  thine  old  smile,  and  I  would  rather  see  that  than — 
Ha  !  has  Irene  vanished  ?  " 

''  Only,  I  suppose,  to  change  her  dress,  my  Cola,  and  mingle 
with  the  revellers,"  answered  Nina.  "  Let  my  smile  atone  for 
hers." 

Rienzi  kissed  the  brow  of  his  wife  as  she  clung  fondly  to  his 
bosom.  "  Thy  smile  is  the  sunlight,"  said  he  :  **but  this  girl 
disturbs  me.  Methinks  «^2£/,  at  least,  she  might  wear  a  gladder 
aspect." 

"  Is  there  nothing  of  love  beneath  my  fair  sister's  gloom  ? " 
answered  Nina.  ''  Do  you  not  call  to  mind  how  she  loved 
Adrian  Colonna?" 

*' Does  that  fantasy  hold  still  ?"  returned  Rienzi  musingly. 
**Well,  and  she  is  fit  bride  for  a  monarch." 

"  Yet  it  were  an  alliance  that  would,  better  than  one  with 
monarchs,  strengthen  thy  power  at  Rome  !  " 

*'  Ay,  were  it  possible  ;  but  that  haughty  race  !  Perchance 
this  very  masker  that  so  haunted  our  steps  was  but  her  lover. 
1  will  look  to  this.  Let  us  forth,  my  Nina.  I  am  well 
cloaked  ? " 

•'  Excellently  well— and  I  ?  " 

**  The  sun  behind  a  cloud." 

**  Ah,  let  us  not  tarry  long  ;  what  hour  of  revel  like  that  when, 
thy  hand  in  mine,  this  head  upon  my  bosom,  we  forget  the 
sorrows  we  have  known,  and  even  the  triumphs  we  have 
shared  ? " 

Meanwhile  Irene,  confused  and  lost  amidst  a  transport  of 
emotion,  already  disguised  and  masked,  was  threading  her 
way  through  the  crowd  back  to  the  Staircase  of  the  Lion. 
WitH  the  absence  of  the  Senator  thttt  spot  had  comparatively 
bfc^  «4<$&erted,     Mutic  «nd  the  d«tn€«  attracted  th«  maskers 


THE    LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  3D7 

to  another  quarter  of  the  wide  space.  And  Irene  now  ap« 
preaching,  beheld  the  moonlight  fall  over  the  statue,  and  a 
solitary  figure  leaning  against  the  pedestal.  She  paused,  the 
figure  approached,  and  again  she  heard  the  voice  of  her  early 
love. 

*'  Oh,  Irene  !  recognized  even  in  this  disguise,"  said  Adrian, 
seizing  her  trembling  hand  ;  "  have  I  lived  to  gaze  again  upon 
that  form — to  touch  this  hand  ?  Did  not  these  eyes  behold 
thee  lifeless  in  that  fearful  vault,  which  I  shudder  to  recall? 
By  what  means  did  Heaven  spare  to  this  earth  one  that  it 
seemed  already  to  have  placed  amongst  its  angels?" 

"Was  this,  indeed,  thy  belief.^"  said  Irene  falteringly,  but 
with  an  accent  eloquent  of  joy.  "  Thou  didst  not  then  will- 
ingly desert  me?  Unjust  that  I  was,  I  wronged  thy  noble 
nature,  and  deemed  that  my  brother's  fall,  my  humble  lineage, 
thy  brilliant  fate,  had  made  thee  renounce  Irene." 

"Unjust  indeed!"  answered  the  lover.  "But  surely  I  saw 
thee  amongst  the  dead  !  Thy  cloak,  with  the  silver  stars — who 
else  wore  the  arms  of  the  Roman  Tribune  ?" 

"  Was  it  but  the  cloak  then,  which,  dropped  in  the  streets, 
was  probably  assumed  by  some  more  ill-fated  victim  ;  was  it 
that  sight  alone,  that  made  thee  so  soon  despair  ?  Ah  ! 
Adrian,"  continued  Irene  tenderly,  but  with  reproach ;  "  not  even 
when  I  saw  thee  seemingly  lifeless  on  the  couch  by  which  I  had 
watched  three  days  and  nights,  not  even  then  did  /  despair  !  " 

"  What  then,  my  vision  did  not  deceive  me  !  It  was  you 
who  watched  by  my  bed  in  that  grim  hour,  whose  love  guard- 
ed, whose  care  preserved  me  !     And  I,  wretch  that  I  was  ! — " 

"  Nay,"  answered  Irene,  "your  thought  was  natural.  Heav- 
en seemed  to  endow  me  with  superhuman  strength,  whilst  I 
was  necessary  to  thee.  But  judge  of  my  dismay.  I  left  thee 
to  seek  the  good  friar  who  attended  thee  as  thy  leech  ;  I  re- 
turned, and  found  thee  not.  Heart-sick  and  terrified,  I 
searched  the  desolate  city  in  vain.  Strong  as  I  was  while 
hope  supported  me,  I  sunk  beneath  fear.  And  my  brother 
found  me  senseless,  and  stretched  on  the  ground,  by  the 
Church  of  St.  Mark." 

"  The  Church  of  St.  Mark  !— so  foretold  his  dream  !  " 

^He  had  told  me  he  had  met  thee  :  we  searched  for  thee  in 
%in  ;  at  length  we  heard  that  thou  hadst  left  the  city,  and — 
and — I  rejoiced,  Adrian,  but  I  repined!" 

For  some  minutes  the  young  lovers  surrendered  themselves 
to  the  delight  of  reunion,  while  new  explanations  called  forth 
new  transports. 


368  RIENZI, 

"And  now,"  murmured  Irene,  "now  that  we  have  met — ** 
she  paused,  and  her  mask  conceaicd  her  blushes. 

"Now  that  we  have  met,"  said  Adrian,  filling  up  the  silence 
'wonlclst  thou  say  further,  *  that  we  should  not  part'?  Trust 
me,  dearest,  that  is  the  hope  that  animates  my  heart.  It  was 
but  to  enjoy  these  brief  bright  moments  with  thee  that  I  de- 
layed my  departure  to  Palestrina.  Could  1  but  hope  to  bring 
aiy  young  cousin  into  amity  with  thy  brother,  no  barrier  v.  oulrj 
prevent  our  union.  Willingly  I  forget  the  past — the  death  of 
my  unhappy  kinsmen  (victims,  it  is  true,  to  their  own  faults)  ; 
and  perhaps,  amidst  all  the  crowds  that  hailed  his  return, 
none  more  appreciated  the  great  and  lofty  qualities  of  Cola  di 
Rienzi  than  did  Adrian  Colonna." 

"  If  this  be  so,"  said  Irene,  'Met  me  hope  the  best  ;  mean- 
while, it  is  enough  of  comfort  and  of  happmess  to  know  that 
we  love  each  other  as  of  old.  Ah,  Adrian,  I  am  sadly 
changed  ;  and  often  have  I  thought  it  a  thing  beyond  my 
dreams,  that  thou  shouldst  see  me  again  and  love  me  still." 

"Fairer  art  thou  and  lovelier  than  ever,"  answered  Adrian 
passionately;  "and  time,  which  has  ripened  thy  bloom,  has 
but  taught  me  more  deeply  to  feel  thy  value.  Farewell,  Irene, 
I  linger  here  no  longer  ;  thou  wilt,  I  trust,  hear  soon  of  my 
success  with  my  House,  and  ere  the  week  be  over  I  may  return 
to  claim  thy  hand  in  the  face  of  day." 

The  lovers  parted  ;  Adrian  lingered  on  the  spot,  and  Irene 
hastened  to  bury  her  emotion  and  her  raptures  in  her  own 
chamber. 

As  her  form  vanished,  and  the  young  Colonna  slowly  turned 
away,  a  tall  mask  strode  abruptly  towards  him. 

"Thou  art  a  Colonna,"  it  said,  "and  in  the  power  of  the 
Senator.     Dost  thou  tremble  ?  " 

"  If  I  be  a  Colonna,  rude  masker,"  answered  Adrian  coldly, 
thou  shouldst  know  the  old  proverb,  *He  who  stirs  the  col- 
umn, shall  rue  the  fall.'  " 

The  stranger  laughed  aloud,  and  then  lifting  his  mask, 
Adrian  saw  that  it  was  the  Senator  who  stood  before  him. 

"  My  Lord  Adrian  di  Castello,"  said  Rienzi,  resuming  all 
his  gravity,  "  is  it  as  friend  or  foe  that  you  have  honored  our 
revels  this  night? " 

"  Senator  of  Rome,"  answered  Adrian,  with  equal  stateli- 
ness,  "  I  partake  of  no  man's  hospitality  but  as  a  friend.  A 
foe,  at  least  to  you,  I  trust  never  justly  to  be  esteemed." 

"I  would,"  rejoined  Rienzi,  "  that  I  could  apply  to  myself 
unreservedly  that  most  flattering  speech.     Are  these  friendly 


THE   LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  $6^ 

feelings  entertained  towards  me  as  the  Governor  of  the  Roman 
people,  or  as  the  brother  of  the  woman  who  has  listened  to 
your  vows?" 

Adrian,  who  when  the  Senator  had  unmasked  had  followed 
his  example,  felt  at  these  words  that  his  eye  quailed  beneath 
Rienzi's.  However,  he  recovered  himself  with  the  wonted 
readiness  of  an  Italian,  and  replied  laconically  : 

"As  both." 

**  Both,"  echoed  Rienzi.  "  Then,  indeed,  noble  Adrian, 
you  are  welcome  hither.  And  yet,  methinks,  if  you  conceived 
there  was  no  cause  for  enmity  between  us,  you  would  have 
wooed  the  sister  of  Cola  di  Rienzi  in  a  guise  more  worthy  of 
your  birth  ;  and,  permit  me  to  add,  of  that  station  which  God, 
destiny,  and  my  country  have  accorded  unto  me.  You  dare  not, 
young  Colonna,  meditate  dishonor  to  the  sister  of  the  Senator 
of  Rome.     Highborn  as  you  are,  she  is  your  equal." 

"  Were  I  the  Emperor,  whose  simple  knight  I  but  am,  your 
sister  were  my  equal,"  answered  Adrian  warmly.  "  Rienzi,  I 
grieve  that  I  am  discovered  to  you  yet.  I  had  trusted,  that  as 
a  mediator  between  the  barons  and  yourself,  I  might  first 
have  won  your  confidence,  and  then  claimed  my  reward^ 
Know  that  with  to-morrow's  dawn  I  depart  for  Palestrina^ 
seeking  to  reconcile  my  young  cousin  to  the  choice  of  the  Peo^ 
pie  and  the  Pontiff.  Various  reasons,  which  I  need  not  now 
detail,  would  have  made  me  wnsh  to  undertake  this  heraldry  of 
peace  without  previous  communication  with  you.  But  since 
we  ^avg  met,  intrust  me  with  any  terms  of  conciliation,  and  I 
pledge  to  you  the  right  hand,  not  of  a  Roman  noble — alas  !  the 
prisca  fides  has  departed  from  that  pledge  ! — but  of  a  Knight 
of  the  Imperial  Court,  that  I  will  not  betray  your  confidence." 

Rienzi,  accustomed  to  read  the  human  countenance,  had 
kept  his  eyes  intently  fixed  upon  Adrian  while  he  spoke  ;  when 
the  Colonna  concluded,  he  pressed  the  proferred  hand,  and 
said,  with  that  familiar  and  winning  sweetness  which  at  times 
was  so  peculiar  to  his  manner  : 

"  I  trust  you,  Adrian,  from  my  soul.  You  were  mine  early 
friend  in  calmer,  perchance  happier,  years.  And  never  did 
river  reflect  the  stars  more  clearly,  than  your  heart  then  mir- 
rored back  the  truth.     I  trust  you  !  " 

While  thus  speaking,  he  had  mechanically  led  back  the  Co- 
lonna to  the  statue  of  the  Lion  ;  there  pausing,  he  resumed  : 

"  Know  that  I  have  this  morning  despatched  my  delegate  to 
your  cousin  Stefanello.  With  all  due  courtesy,  I  have  apprised 
him  of  my  return  to  Rome,  and  invited  hither  his  honored 


37©  RIENZI, 

presence.  Forgetting  all  ancient  feuds,  ttiy  Owil  past  exile^ 
I  have  assured  liim,  here,  the  station  and  dignity  due  to  the 
head  of  the  Colonna.  All  that  I  ask  in  return  is  obedience  to 
the  law.  Years  and  reverses  have  abated  my  younger  pride, 
and  though  I  may  yet  preserve  the  sternness  of  the  Judge, 
none  shall  hereafter  complain  of  the  insolence  of  the  Tribune." 

"  I  would,"  answered  Adrian,  **  that  your  mission  to  Stefa- 
nello  had  been  delayed  a  day  ;  I  would  fain  have  forestalled 
its  purport.  Howbeit,  you  increase  my  desire  of  departure  ;■ 
should  I  yet  succeed  in  obtaining  an  honorable  and  peaceful 
reconciliation,  it  is  not  in  disguise  that  I  will  woo  your  sister." 

"  And  never  did  Colonna,"  replied  Rienzi  loftily,  "  bring  to 
his  house  a  maiden  whose  alliance  more  gratified  ambition.  I 
still  see,  as  I  have  seen  ever,  in  mine  own  projects,  and  mine 
own  destinies,  the  chart  of  the  new  Roman  Empire  !  " 

"  Be  not  too  sanguine  yet,  brave  Rienzi,"  replied  Adrian, 
laying  his  hand  on  the  Lion  of  Basalt :  "  bethink  thee  on  how 
many  scheming  brains  this  dumb  image  of  stone  hath  looked 
down  from  its  pedestal — schemes  of  sand,  and  schemers  of 
dust.  Thou  hast  enough,  at  present,  for  the  employ  of  all 
thine  energy,  not  to  extend  thy  power,  but  to  preserve  thyself. 
For,  trust  me,  never  stood  human  greatness  on  so  wild  and 
dark  a  precipice  !  " 

**  Thou  art  honest,"  said  the  Senator;  "and  these  are  the 
first  words  of  doubt,  and  yet  of  sympathy,  I  have  heard  in 
Rome.  But  the  People  love  me,  the  Barons  have  fled  from 
Rome,  the  Pontiff  approves,  and  the  swords  of  the  Northmen 
guard  the  avenues  of  the  Capitol.  But  these  are  nought ;  i:"L 
mine  own  honesty  are  my  spear  and  buckler.  Oh  never,"  con- 
tinued Rienzi,  kindling  with  his  enthusiasm,  "never  since  the 
days  of  the  old  Republic,  did  Roman  dream  a  purer  and  a 
brighter  aspiration  than  that  which  animates  and  supports  me 
now.  Peace  restored — law  established — art,  letters,  intellect, 
dawning  upon  the  night  of  time  ;  the  Patricians,  no  longer 
bandits  of  rapine,  but  the  guard  of  order  ;  the  people  ennobled 
from  a  mob,  brave  to  protect,  enlightened  to  guide,  themselves. 
Then,  not  by  the  violence  of  arms,  but  by  the  majesty  of  her 
moral  power,  shall  the  Mother  of  Nations  claim  the  obedience 
of  her  children.  Thus  dreaming  and  thus  hoping,  shall  I 
tremble  or  despond  ?  No,  Adrian  Colonna,  come  weal  or  woe, 
I  abide,  unshrinking  and  unawed,  by  the  chances  of  my 
doom  !  " 

So  much  did  the  manner  and  the  tone  of  the  Senator  exalt 
his  language,  that  even  the  sober   sense  of  Adrian  was  en- 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  37 1 

IshiWited  and  subdued.  He  kissed  the  hand  he  held,  and  said 
earnestly  : 

"A  doom  that  I  will  deem  it  my  boast  to  share  ;  a  career 
t:hat  it  will  be  my  glory  to  smooth.  If  I  succeed  in  my  present 
nission — ** 

"  You  are  my  brother  !  "  said  Rienzi. 

*' If  I  fail?" 

"You  may  equally  claim  that  alliance.  You  pause — you 
.hange  color." 

"  Can  I  desert  my  house  ?  '* 

*' Young  lord,"  said  Rienzi  loftily,  "say  rather  can  you 
desert  your  country  ?  If  you  doubt  my  honesty,  if  you  fear  my 
ambition,  desist  from  your  task,  rob  me  not  of  a  single  foe. 
But  if  you  believe  that  I  have  the  will  and  the  power  to  serve 
the  State  ;  if  you  recognize,  even  in  the  reverses  and  calamities 
I  have  known  and  mastered,  the  protecting  hand  of  the  Saviour 
of  Nations  ;  if  those  reverses  were  but  the  mercy  of  Him  who 
chasteneth — necessary,  it  may  be,  to  correct  my  earlier  daring 
and  sharpen  yet  more  my  intellect — if,  in  a  word,  thou  be- 
lievest  me  one  whom,  whatever  be  his  faults,  God  hath  pre- 
served for  the  sake  of  Rome,  forget  that  you  are  a  Colonna — 
remember  only  that  you  are  a  Roman  !  " 

"  You  have  conquered  me,  strange  and  commanding  spirit," 
said  Adrian,  in  a  low  voice,  completely  carried  away  ;  "  and 
whatever  the  conduct  of  my  kindred,  I  am  yours  and  Rome's. 
Farewell." 


CHAPTER  III. 

Adrian's  adventures  at  palestrina. 

It  was  yet  noon  when  Adrian  beheld  before  him  the  lofty 
mountains  that  shelter  Palestrina,  the  Prceneste  of  the  ancient 
-vorld.  Back  to  a  period  before  Romulus  existed,  in  the  earliest 
ages  of  that  mysterious  civilization  which  in  Italy  preceded  the 
birth  of  Rome,  could  be  traced  the  existence  and  the  power  of 
that  rocky  city.  Eight  dependent  towns  owned  its  sway  and 
its  wealth  ;  its  position,  and  the  strength  of  those  mighty  walls, 
in  whose  ruins  may  yet  be  traced  the  masonry  of  the  remote 
Pelasgi,  had  long  braved  the  ambition  of  the  neighboring 
Rome.     From  that    very  citadel,    the    Mural   Crown*  of    the 

•Hence,   apuartntly,   its  Greek  naJttft  of  Siet)hane.     Palestrina  is  yet  ohe  of  the  maz># 
VrmCa  wKi«h  Wi*  vMnHy  of  Rem«  «ffor4«  of  th«  fhi  Gr««k  civilitation  of  iHiklyi 


37*  RfENzr, 

mountain,  had  waved  the  standard  of  Marius  ;  and  up  the 
road  which  Adrian's  scanty  troop  slowly  wound,  had  echoed 
the  march  of  the  murtherous  Sylla,  on  his  return  from  the 
Mithridatic  war.  Below,  where  the  city  spreads  towards  the 
plain,  were  yet  seen  the  shattered  and  roofless  columns  of 
\he  once  celebrated  Temple  of  Fortune  ;  and  still  the  im- 
memorial olives  clustered  gray  and  mournfully  around  the 
ruins. 

A  more  formidable  hold  the  barons  of  Rome  could  not 
have  selected  ;  and  as  Adrian's  military  eye  scanned  the  steep 
ascent  and  the  rugged  walls,  he  felt  that  with  ordinary  skill  it 
might  defy  for  months  all  the  power  of  the  Roman  Senator. 
Below,  in  the  fertile  valley,  dismantled  cottages  and  trampled 
harvests  attested  the  violence  and  rapine  of  the  insurgent 
barons  ;  and  at  that  very  moment  were  seen,  in  the  old  plain 
of  the  warlike  Hernici,  troops  of  armed  men,  driving  before 
them  herds  of  sheep  and  cattle,  collected  in  their  lawless  in- 
cursions. In  sight  of  that  Prce7ieste^  which  had  been  the 
favorite  retreat  of  the  luxurious  lords  of  Rome  in  its  most  pol- 
ished day,  the  Age  of  Iron  seemed  renewed. 

The  banner  of  the  Colonna,  borne  by  Adrian's  troop,  ob- 
tained ready  admittance  at  the  Porta  del  Sole.  As  he  passed 
up  the  irregular  and  narrow  streets  that  ascended  to  the  cita- 
del, groups  of  foreign  mercenaries,  half-ragged,  half-tawdry 
knots  of  abandoned  women,  mixed  here  and  there  with  the 
liveries  of  the  Colonna,  stood  loitering  amidst  the  ruins  of 
ancient  fanes  and  palaces,  or  basked  lazily  in  the  sun  upon 
terraces,  through  which,  from  amidst  weeds  and  grass,  glowed 
the  imperishable  hues  of  the  rich  mosaics,  which  had  made 
the  pride  of  that  lettered  and  graceful  nobility,  of  whom 
savage  freebooters  were  now  the  heirs. 

The  contrast  between  the  Past  and  Present  forcibly  occurred 
to  Adrian,  as  he  passed  along  ;  and,  despite  his  order,  he  felt 
as  if  Civilization  itself  were  enlisted  against  his  house  upon 
the  side  of  Rienzi. 

Leaving  his  train  in  the  court  of  the  citadel,  Adrian  de- 
manded admission  to  the  presence  of  his  cousin.  He  had  left 
Stefanello  a  child  on  his  departure  from  Rome,  and  there 
could  therefore  be  but  a  slight  and  unfamiliar  acquaintance 
betwixt  them,  despite  their  kindred. 

Peals  of  laughter  came  upon  his  ear  as  he  followed  one  of 
Stefanello's  gentlemen  through  a  winding  passage  that  led  to 
the  principal  rh.imbcr.  The  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Adrian 
found  hiroseU  in  a  rudf  hall,   to  whiish  som«  appearan<?€  of 


tttE    LAST    OF   THE    TRIBUNES.  373 

fiasty  state  and  attempted  comfort  had  been  given.  Costly 
arras  imperfectly  clothed  the  stone  walls,  and  the  rich  seats  and 
decorated  tables,  which  the  growing  civilization  of  the  northern 
cities  of  Italy  had  already  introduced  into  the  palaces  of  Ital- 
ian nobles,  strangely  contrasted  the  rough  pavement,  spread 
with  heaps  of  armor  negh'gently  piled  around.  At  the  farther 
end  of  the  apartment  Adrian  shudderingly  perceived,  set  in  due 
and  exact  order,  the  implements  of  torture. 

Stefanello  Colonna,  with  two  other  barons,  indolently  re- 
clined on  seats  drawn  around  a  table,  in  the  recess  of  a  deep 
casement,  from  which  might  be  still  seen  the  same  glorious 
landscape,  bounded  by  the  dim  spires  of  Rome,  which  Hanni' 
bal  and  Pyrrhus  had  ascended  that  very  citadel  to  survey. 

Stefanello  himself,  in  the  first  bloom  of  youth,  bore  alreadj 
on  his  beardless  countenance  those  traces  usually  the  work  aj 
the  passions  and  vices  of  maturest  manhood.  His  features  were 
cast  in  the  mould  of  the  old  Stephen's  ;  in  their  clear,  sharp., 
high-bred  outline  might  be  noticed  that  regular  and  graceful 
symmetry,  which  blood,  in  men,  as  in  animalt,  will  sometimes 
entail  through  generations  ;  but  the  features  were  wasted  and 
meagre.  His  brows  were  knit  in  an  eternal  frown  ;  his  thin  and 
bloodless  lips  wore  that  insolent  contempt  which  seems  so 
peculiarly  cold  and  unlovely  in  early  youth  ;  and  the  deep  and 
livid  hollows  round  his  eyes  spoke  of  habitual  excess  and  pre- 
mature exhaustion.  By  him  sat  (reconciled  by  hatred  to  one 
another)  the  hereditary  foes  of  his  race  ;  the  soft,  but  cunning 
and  astute  features  of  Lucadi  Savelli  contrasted  with  the  broad 
frame  and  ferocious  countenance  of  the  Prince  of  the  Orsini. 

The  young  head  of  the  Colonna  rose  with  some  cordiality  to 
receive  his  cousin.  ** Welcome,"  he  said,  *'dear  Adrian;  yon 
are  arrived  in  time  to  assist  us  with  your  well-known  military 
skill.  Think  you  not  we  shall  stand  a  long  siege,  if  the  inso- 
ient  plebeian  dare  adventure  it?  You  know  our  friends,  the 
Orsini  and  the  Savelli  ?  Thanks  to  St.  Peter,  or  Peter's  dele- 
gate, we  have  now  happily  meaner  throats  to  cut  than  those  of 
each  other  ! " 

Thus  saying,  Stefanello  again  threw  himself  listlessly  on  hh 
seat,  and  the  shrill,  woman's  voice  of  Savelli  took  part  in  the 
dialogue. 

"  I  would,  noble  signor,  that  you  had  come  a  few  hours 
earlier:  we  arc  still  making  merry  at  the  recollection — he,  he, 
he!" 

"Ah,  excellent,"  cried  Stefanello,  joining  in  the  laugh  ;  *'out 
cousin  has  had  a  loss.     Know,  Adrian,  that  this  base  fellowj^ 


^74  RlENZi, 

whom  the  Pope  has  had  the  impudence  to  create  Senator,  dared 
but  yesterday  to  send  us  a  varlet,  whom  he  called — by  Our 
Lady — his  ambassador  !  " 

"  Would  you  could  have  seen  his  mantle,  Signer  Adrian ! " 
chimed  in  the  Savelli :  "  purple  velvet,  as  1  live,  decorated  in 
gold,  with  the  arms  of  Rome  :  we  soon  spoiled  his  finery." 

**  What !  "  exclaimed  Adrian, '*  you  did  not  break  the  laws 
of  all  nobility  and  knighthood  ?  You  offered  no  insult  to  a 
herald  ! " 

"Herald,  sayst  thou?"  cried  Stefanello,  frowning  till  his 
eyes  were  scarce  visible.  *'  It  is  for  princes  and  barons  alone 
to  employ  heralds.  An  I  had  had  my  will,  I  would  have  sent 
back  the  minion's  head  to  the  usurper." 

"  What  did  ye  then  ?  "  asked  Adrian  coldly. 

*'  Bade  our  swineherds  dip  the  fellow  in  the  ditch,  and  gave 
him  a  night's  lodging  in  a  dungeon  to  dry  himself  withal." 

"And  this  morning — he,  he,  he  !  "  added  the  Savelli,  "we 
had  him  before  us,  and  drew  his  teeth  one  by  one ;  I  would 
you  could  have  heard  the  fellow  mumble  out  for  mercy  ! " 

Adrian  rose  hastily,  and  struck  the  table  fiercely  with  his 
gauntlet. 

"  Stefanello  Colonna,"  said  he,  coloring  with  noble  rage, 
**  answer  me:  did  you  dare  to  inflict  this  indelible  disgrace 
upon  the  name  we  jointly  bear  !  Tell  me,  at  least,  that  you 
protested  against  this  foul  treason  to  all  the  laws  of  civilization 
and  of  honor.  You  answer  not.  House  of  the  Colonna,  can 
such  be  thy  representative  !  " 

"  To  me  these  words !  "  said  Stefanello,  trembling  with 
passion.  "  Beware  !  Methinks  thou  art  the  traitor,  leagued 
perhaps  with  yon  rascal  mob.  Well  do  I  remember  that  thou, 
the  betrothed  of  the  demagogue's  sister,  didst  not  join  with  my 
uncle  and  my  father  of  old,  but  didst  basely  leave  the  city  to 
her  plebeian  tyrant." 

"That  did  he  !  "  said  the  fierce  Orsini,  approaching  Adrian 
menacingly,  while  the  gentle  cowardice  of  Savelli  sought  in  vain 
to  pluck  him  back  by  the  mantle  ;  "  that  did  he  !  and  but  for 
thy  presence,  Stefanello — " 

"  Coward  and  blusterer  !  "  interrupted  Adrian,  fairly  beside 
himself  with  indignation  and  shame,  and  dashing  his  gauntlet 
in  the  very  face  of  the  advancing  Orsini  ;  "  wouldst  thou 
threaten  one  who  has  maintained,  in  every  list  of  Europe,  and 
against  the  stoutest  chivalry  of  the  North,  the  honor  of  Rome, 
which  thy  deeds  the  while  disgraced  ?  By  this  gage,  I  spit 
upon  and  defy  thee.     With  lance  and  with  brand,  on  horse  and 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES. 


375 


on  foot,  I  maintain  against  thee  and  all  thy  line,  that  thou  art 
no  knight  to  have  thus  maltreated,  in  thy  strongholds,  a 
peaceful  and  unarmed  herald.  Yes,  even  here,  on  the  spot  of 
thy  disgrace,  I  challenge  thee  to  arms  !  " 

"  To  the  court  below  !  Follow  me,"  said  Orsini  sullenly, 
and  striding  towards  the  threshold.  *' What,  ho  there!  my 
hehnet  and  breastplate  !  " 

"  Stay,  noble  Orsini,"  said  Stefanello.  "The  insult  offered 
to  thee  is  my  quarrel — mine  was  the  deed — and  against  me 
speaks  this  degenerate  scion  of  our  Ime.  Adrian  di  Castello — 
sometime  called  Colonna — surrender  your  sword  :  you  are  my 
prisoner !" 

"  Oh  I  "  said  Adrian,  grinding  his  teeth,  "  that  my  ancestral 
blood  did  not  flow  through  thy  veins — else — but  enough  !  Me  ! 
your  equal,  and  the  favored  Knight  of  the  Emperor,  whose 
advent  now  brightens  the  frontiers  of  Italy  ! — me — you  dare 
not  detain.  For  your  friends,  I  shall  meet  them  yet  perhaps, 
ere  many  days  are  over,  where  none  shall  separate  our  swords. 
Till  then,  remember,  Orsini,  that  it  is  against  no  unpractised 
arm  that  thou  wilt  have  to  redeem  thy  honor  !  " 

Adrian,  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  strode  towards  the 
door,  and  passed  the  Orsini,  who  stood,  lowering  and  irreso- 
lute, in  the  centre  of  the  apartment. 

Savelli  whispered  Stefanello.  "  He  says,  *  Ere  many  days 
be  past  !  '  Be  sure,  dear  signor,  that  he  goes  to  join  Rienzi. 
Remember,  the  alliance  he  once  sought  with  the  Tribune's 
sister  may  be  renewed.  Beware  of  him  !  Ought  he  to  leave 
the  castle  ?  The  name  of  a  Colonna  associated  with  the  mob 
would  distract  and  divide  half  our  strength." 

*'  Fear  me  not,"  returned  Stefanello,  with  a  malignant  smile. 
''*Ere  you  spoke,  I  had  determined  !  " 

The  young  Colonna  lifted  the  arras  from  the  wall,  opened  a 
door,  and  passed  into  a  low  hall,  in  which  sate  twenty  merce- 
naries. 

"  Quick  !  "  said  he.  "  Seize  and  disarm  yon  stranger  in  the 
green  mantle — but  slay  him  not.  Bid  the  guard  below  find 
dungeons  for  his  train.     Quick  !  ere  he  reach  the  gate." 

Adrian  had  gained  the  open  hall  below,  his  train  and  his 
steed  were  in  sight  in  the  court,  when  suddenly  the  soldiery 
of  the  Colonna,  rushing  through  another  passage  than  that 
which  he  had  passed,  surrounded  and  intercepted  his  retreat. 

"  Yield  thee,  Adrian  di  Castello,"  cried  Stefanello  from  the 
summit  of  the  stairs  ;  "  or  your  blood  be  on   your  own  head." 

Three  steps  did  Adrian  make  through  the  press^  and  three  of 


376  RIENZI, 

his  enemies  fell  beneath  his  sword.      **  To  the  rescue!"  he 

shouted  to  his  band,  and  already  those  bold  and  daring  troopers 
had  gained  the  hall.  Presently  the  alarum  bell  tolled  loud  ;  the 
court  swarmed  with  soldiers.  Oppressed  by  numbers,  beat 
down  rather  than  subdued,  Adrian's  little  train  was  soon  se- 
cured, and  the  flower  of  the  Colonna,  wounded,  breathless, 
disarmed,  but  still  uttering  loud  defiance,  was  a  prisoner  in  the 
iDrtress  of  his  kinsmaiv. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  POSITION  OF  THE  SENATOR. — THE   WORK  OF  VEARS.-^THE 
REWARDS  OF  AMBITION. 

The  indignation  of  Rienzi  may  readily  be  conceived  on  the 
return  of  his  herald  mutilated  and  dishonored.  His  temper,  so 
naturally  stern,  was  rendered  yet  more  hard  by  the  remem- 
brance of  his  wrongs  and  trials  ;  and  the  result  which  attended 
his  overtures  of  conciliation  to  Stefanello  Colonna  stung  him  to 
the  soul. 

The  bell  of  the  Capitol  tolled  to  arms  within  ten  minutes 
after  the  return  of  the  herald.  The  great  gonfalon  of  Rome 
was  unfurled  on  the  highest  tower  ;  and  the  very  evening  after 
Adrian's  arrest,  the  forces  of  the  Senator,  headed  by  Rienzi  in 
person,  were  on  the  road  to  Palestrina.  The  troopers  of  the 
barons  had,  however,  made  incursions  as  far  as  Tivoliwith  the 
supposed  connivance  of  the  inhabitants,  and  Rienzi  halted  at 
that  beautiful  spot  to  raise  recruits,  and  receive  the  allegiance 
of  the  suspected,  while  his  soldiers,  with  Arimbaldo  and  Bret- 
tone  at  their  head  went  in  search  of  the  marauders.  The 
brothers  of  Montreal  returned  late  at  night  with  the  intelligence 
that  the  troopers  of  the  barons  had  secured  themselves  amidst 
the  recesses  of  the  wood  of  Pantano. 

The  red  spot  mounted  to  Rienzi's  brow.  He  gazed  hard  at 
Brettone,  who  stated  the  news  to  him,  and  a  natural  suspicion 
shot  across  his  mind. 

"  How  ! — escaped  !  "  he  said.  "  Is  it  possible  ?  Enough  of 
such  idle  skirmishes  with  these  lordly  robbers.  Will  the  hour 
ever  come  when  I  shall  meet  them  hand  to  hand?  Brettone," 
and  the  brother  of  Montreal  felt  the  dark  eye  of  Rienzi  pierce 
to  his  very  heart  ;  **  Bretlone  I  "  said  he,  with  an  abrupt  change 
of  voice,  '*  are  your  men  to  be  tn^sted  ^  Is  there  no  connivancy 
Ci'ith  the  barons  ?  " 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  377 

**  How  !  "  said  Brettone  sullenly,  but  somewhat  confused. 

"  How  me  no  hows  !  "  quoth  the  Tribune-Senator  fiercely. 
*  I  know  that  thou  art  a  valiant  captain  of  valiant  men.  Thou 
and  thy  brother  Arimbaldo  have  served  me  well,  and  I  have 
rewarded  ye  well  !     Have  I  not?     Speak  !  " 

"Senator,"  answered  Arimbaldo,  taking  up  the  word,  "you 
have  kept  your  word  to  us.  You  have  raised  us  to  the  highest 
rank  your  power  could  bestow,  and  this  has  amply  atoned  our 
humble  services." 

"I  am  glad  ye  allow  thus  much,"  said  the  Tribune, 

Arimbaldo  proceeded  somewhat  more  loftily,  "  I  trust,  my 
lord,  you  do  not  doubt  us  ?  " 

"Arimbaldo,"  replied  Rienzi,  in  a  voice  of  deep  but  half- 
suppressed  emotion  ;  "  you  are  a  lettered  man,  and  you  have 
seemed  to  share  my  projects  for  the  regeneration  of  our  com- 
mon kind.  Vou  ought  not  to  betray  me.  There  is  something 
in  unison  between  t^s.  But,  chide  me  not,  I  am  surrounded  by 
treason,  and  the  very  air  I  breathe  seems  poison  to  my  lips." 

There  was  a  pathos  mingled  with  Rienzi's  words  which 
touched  the  milder  brother  of  Montreal.  He  bowed  in  silence. 
Rienzi  surveyed  him  wistfully,  and  sighed.  Then,  changing 
the  conversation,  he  spoke  of  their  intended  siege  of  Palestrina, 
and  shortly  afterwards  retired  to  rest. 

Left  alone,  the  brothers  regarded  each  other  for  some  mo- 
ments in  silence.  "Brettone,"  said  Arimbaldo  at  length,  in  a 
whispered  voice,  "  my  heart  misgives  me.  I  like  not  Walter's 
ambitious  schemes.  With  our  own  countrymen  we  are  frank 
and  loyal,  why  play  the  traitor  with  this  high-souled  Roman  ?  "* 

"  Tush !  "  said  Brettone.  "  Our  brother's  hand  of  iron 
alone  can  sway  this  turbulent  people  ;  and  if  Rienzi  be  be- 
trayed, so  also  are  his  enemies  the  barons.  No  more  of  this  ! 
I  have  tidings  from  Montreal  ;  he  will  be  in  Rome  in  a  few 
days." 

"And  then?" 

"  Rienzi,  weakened  by  the  barons  (for  he  must  not  conquer)— 
the  barons,  weakened  by  Rienzi — our  Northmen  seize  the  Capi 
itol,  and  the  soldiery,  now  scattered  throughout  Italy,  will  flj 
to  the  standard  of  the  Great  Captain.  Montreal  must  be  first 
Podesta,  then  King,  of  Rome." 

Arimbaldo  moved  restlessly  in  his  seat,  and  the  brethrei] 
conferred  no  more  on  their  projects. 

*  The  anonymous  biofjrapher  of  Rienzi  m.^kes  the  following  just  remark  '.  "  Pono'.i 
tedeschi,  come  discendon  de  la  Alema^na,  seniplici,  puri.  senza  Iraude,  come  si  allocau*; 
tra  taliani,  diventano  mastro  coduli,  viziosi,  che  sentono  ognj  maiizia." — ^V/.  de  Co{.  di 
/v/t«2/,  lib.  ii.,  cap.  t6. 


378  RIENZI, 

The  situation  of  Rienzi  was  precisely  that  which  tends  the 
most  to  sour  and  to  harden  the  fairest  nature.  With  an  intel- 
lect capable  of  the  grandest  designs,  a  heart  that  beat  with  the 
loftiest  emotions,  elevated  to  the  sunny  pinnacle  of  power  and 
surrounded  by  loud-tongued  adulators,  he  knew  not  among 
men  a  single  breast  in  which  he  could  confide.  He  was  as 
one  on  a  steep  ascent,  whose  footing  crumbles,  while  every 
bough  at  which  he  grasps  seems  to  rot  at  his  touch.  He  found 
the  people  more  than  ever  eloquent  in  his  favor,  but  while  they 
shouted  raptures  as  he  passed,  not  a  man  was  capable  of 
making  a  sacrifice  for  hitn  !  The  liberty  of  a  State  is  never 
achieved  by  a  single  individual  ;  if  not  the  people — if  not  the 
greater  number — a  zealous  and  fervent  minority,  at  least,  must 
go  hand  in  hand  with  him.  Rome  demanded  sacrifices  in  all 
who  sought  the  Roman  regeneration — sacrifices  of  time,  ease, 
and  money.  The  crowd  followed  the  procession  of  the  Senator, 
but  not  a  single  Roman  devoted  his  life,  unpaid^  to  his  stand- 
ard ;  not  a  single  coin  was  subscribed  in  the  defence  of  free- 
dom. Against  him  were  arrayed  the  most  powerful  and  the 
most  ferocious  barons  of  Italy  ;  each  of  whom  could  maintain, 
at  his  own  cost,  a  little  army  of  practised  warriors.  With 
Rienzi  were  traders  and  artificers  who  were  willing  to  enjoy  the 
fruits  of  liberty,  but  not  to  labor  at  the  soil  ;  who  demanded, 
in  return  for  empty  shouts,  peace  and  riches  ;  and  who  ex- 
pected that  one  man  was  to  effect  in  a  day  what  would  be 
cheaply  purchased  by  the  struggle  of  a  generation.  All  their 
dark  and  rude  notion  of  a  reformed  State  v/as  to  live  unbutch- 
ered  by  the  barons  and  untaxed  by  their  governors.  Rome,  I 
say,  gave  to  her  Senator  not  a  free  arm  or  a  voluntary  florin.* 
Well  aware  of  the  danger  which  surrounds  the  ruler  who  de- 
fends his  State  by  foreign  swords,  the  fondest  wish  and  the 
most  visionary  dream  of  Rienzi  was  to  revive  amongst  the 
Romans,  in  their  first  enthusiasm  at  his  return,  an  organized 
and  voluntary  force,  who,  in  protecting  him,  would  protect 
themselves  ;  not,  as  before,  in  his  first  power,  a  nominal  force  of 
twenty  thousand  men,  who  at  any  hour  might  yield  (as  they 
did  yield)  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  ;  but  a  regular,  well  disci- 
plined, and  trusty  body,  numerous  enough  to  resist  aggres- 
sion, not  numerous  enough  to  become  themselves  the  aggres- 
sors. 

Hitherto  all  his  private  endeavors,  his  public  exhortations, 
had  failed  ;  the   crowd  listened — shouted — saw   him  quit   the 

♦  f  his  plain  fact  is  thoroughly  borne  oat  by  every  authority. 


THE  LAST  OiP  TtlE  TRIBUNES.  379 

City  to  meet  their  tyrants,  and   returned  to  their  shops  saying 
to  each  other,  **  What  a  great  man  ! " 

The  character  of  Rienzi  has  chiefly  received  for  its  judges 
men  of  the  closet,  who  speculate  upon  human  beings  as  if  they 
were  machines ;  who  gauge  the  great,  not  by  their  merit,  but 
their  success  ;  and  who  have  censured  or  sneered  at  the  Trib- 
une, where  they  should  have  condemned  the  people  !  Had 
but  one-half  the  spirit  been  found  in  Rome  which  ran  through 
a  single  vein  of  Cola  di  Rienzi,  the  august  Republic,  if  not  the 
majestic  Empire,  of  Rome  might  be  existing  now  !  Turning 
from  the  people,  the  Senator  saw  his  rude  and  savage  troops, 
accustomed  to  the  license  of  a  tyrant's  camp,  and  under  com- 
manders in  whom  it  was  ruin  really  to  confide,  whom  it  was 
equal  ruin  openly  to  distrust.  Hemmed  in  on  every  side  by 
dangers,  his  character  daily  grew  more  restless,  vigilant,  and 
stern  ;  and  still,  with  all  the  aims  of  the  patriot,  he  felt  all  the 
curses  of  the  tyrant.  Without  the  rough  and  hardening 
career  which,  through  a  life  of  warfare,  had  brought  Crom- 
well to  a  similar  power ;  with  more  grace  and  intellectual  soft- 
ness in  his  composition,  he  resembled  that  yet  greater  man  in 
some  points  of  character:  in  nis  religious  enthusiasm;  his 
rigid  justice,  often  forced  by  circumstance  into  severity,  but 
never  wantonly  cruel  or  bloodthirsty;  in  his  singular  pride  of 
country ;  and  his  mysterious  command  over  the  minds  of 
others.  But  he  resembled  the  giant  Englishman  far  more  in 
circumstance  than  original  nature,  and  that  circumstance  as- 
similated their  characters  at  the  close  of  their  several  careers. 
Like  Cromwell,  beset  by  secret  or  open  foes,  the  assassin's 
dagger  ever  gleamed  before  his  eyes ;  and  his  stout  heart,  un- 
awed  by  the  real,  trembled  at  imagined  terrors.  The  coun- 
tenance changing  suddenly  from  red  to  white  ;  the  bloqdsliot. 
restless  eye,  belying  the  composed  majesty  of  mien  ;  the  mut 
tering  lips — the  broken  slumber  ;  the  secret  corselet — these  to 
both  were  the  rewards  of  Power  ! 

The  elasticity  of  youth  had  left  the  Tribune  !  His  frame 
which  had  endured  so  many  shocks,  had  contracted  a  painfu 
disease  in  the  dungeon  at  Avignon  ;  *  his  high  soul  still  sup- 
ported himi,  but  the  nerves  gave  way.  Tears  came  readily  into 
his  eyes,  and  often,  like  Cromwell,  he  was  thought  to  weep 
from  hypocrisy,  when  in  truth  it  was  the  hysteric  of  overwrought 
and  irritable  emotion.  In  all  his  former  life  singularly  tem- 
perate, he  now  fled  from  his  goading  thoughts  to  the  beguiling 

*  "  Dicea  che  ne  la  prigione  era  stato  ascarmato."—  FzV  di  Col  di  Rienzi,  lib.  ii.,  cap.  x8* 


380  RIENZI, 

excitement  of  wine.f  He  drank  deep,  though  its  effects  were 
never  visible  upon  him  except  in  a  freer  and  wilder  mood,  and 
the  indulgence  of  that  racy  humor,  half-mirthful,  half-bitter, 
for  which  his  younger  day  had  been  distinguished.  Now  the 
mirth  had  more  loudness,  but  the  bitterness  more  gall. 

Such  were  the  characteristics  of  Rienzi  at  his  return  to 
power — made  more  apparent  with  every  day.  Nina  he  still 
loved  with  the  same  tenderness,  and,  if  possible,  she  adored 
him  more  than  ever  ;  but,  the  zest  and  the  freshness  of  tri- 
umphant ambition  gone,  somehow  or  other,  their  intercourse 
together  had  not  its  old  charm.  Formerly  they  talked  con- 
stantly of  the  future — of  the  bright  days  in  store  for  them. 
Now,  with  a  sharp  and  uneasy  pang,  Rienzi  turned  from  all 
thought  of  that  *'  gay  to-morrow."  There  was  no  *'  gay  to-mor- 
row "  for  him  !  Dark  and  thorny  as  was  the  present  hour,  all 
beyond  seemed  yet  less  cheering  and  more  ominous.  Still  he 
had  some  moments,  brief  but  brilliant,  when,  forgetting  the 
iron  race  amongst  vvliom  he  was  thrown,  he  plunged  into  scho- 
lastic reveries  of  the  worshipped  Past,  and  half  fancied  that 
he  was  of  a  People  worthy  of  his  genius  and  his  devotion. 
Like  most  men  who  have  been  preserved  through  great  dangers, 
he  continued  with  increasing  fondness  to  nourish  a  credulous 
belief  in  the  grandeur  of  his  own  destiny.  He  could  not  im- 
agine that  he  had  been  so  delivered,  and  for  no  end  !  He  was 
the  Elected,  and  therefore  the  Instrument,  of  Heaven.  And 
thus,  that  Bible  which  in  his  loneliness,  his  wanderings,  and 
his  prison,  had  been  his  solace  and  support,  was  more  than 
ever  needed  in  his  greatness. 

It  was  another  cause  of  sorrow  and  chagrin  to  one  who, 
amid  such  circumstances  of  public  danger,  required  so  pecu- 
liarly the  support  and  sympathy  of  private  friends,  that  he 
found  he  had  incurred  amongst  his  old  coadjutors  the  common 
penalty  of  absence.  A  few  were  dead  ;  others,  wearied  with 
the  storms  of  public  life,  and  chilled  in  their  ardor  by  the  tur- 
bulent revolutions  to  which,  in  every  effort  for  her  ameliora- 
tion, Rome  had  been  subjected,  had  retired, — some  altogether 
from  the  city,  some  from  all  participation  in  political  affairs. 
In  his  halls,  the  Tribune-Senator  was  surrounded  by  unfamiliar 
faces,  and  a  new  generation.  Of  the  heads  of  the  popular 
party,  most  were  animated  by  a  stern  dislike  to  the  Pontifical 
domination,  and  looked  with   suspicion  and  repugnance  upon 

t  "  Solea  prima  esser  sobrio,  temperato,  astinente,  ora  e  diventato  distemperatissimo  bevL 
tore,"  etc.— //'/V/. 

"At  first  he  used  to  be  sober,  temperate,  abstinent ;  now  he  is  become  a  most  intern* 
(crate  drinker,"  etc. — Li/e  0/  Cola  di  Rien&i, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  381 

one  who,  if  he  governed  for  the  People,  had  been  trusted  and 
honored  by  the  Pope.  Rienzi  was  not  a  man  to  forget  former 
friends,  however  lowly,  and  had  already  found  time  to  seek  an 
interview  with  Cecco  del  Vecchio.  But  that  stern  Republican 
had  received  him  with  coldness.  His  foreign  mercenaries,  and 
his  title  of  Senator,  were  things  that  the  artisan  could  not  di- 
gest.    With  his  usual  bluntness,  he  had  said  so  to  Rienzi. 

"As  for  the  last,"  answered  the  Tribune  affably,  "names  do 
not  alternatures.  When  I  forget  that  to  be  delegate  to  the 
Pontiff  is  to  be  the  guardian  of  his  flock,  forsake  me.  As  for 
the  first,  let  me  but  see  five  hundred  Romans  sworn  to  stand 
armed  day  and  night  for  the  defence  of  Rome,  and  1  dismiss 
the  Northmen." 

Cecco  del  Vecchio  was  unsoftened  ;  honest,  but  uneducated  ; 
impracticable,  and  by  nature  a  malcontent,  he  felt  as  if  he  were, 
no  longer  necessary  to  the  Senator,  and  this  offended  his  pride. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  sullen  artisan  bore,  too,  a  secret 
grudge  against  Rienzi,  for  not  having  seen  and  selected  him 
from  a  crowd  of  thousands  on  the  day  of  his  triumphal  entry. 
Such  are  the  small  offences  which  produce  deep  danger  to  the 
great  ! 

The  artisans  still  held  their  meetings,  and  Cecco  del  Vec- 
chio's  voice  w^s  heard  loud  in  grumbling  forebodings.  But 
what  wounded  Rienzi  yet  more  than  the  alienation  of  the  rest 
was  the  confused  and  altered  manner  of  his  old  friend  and 
familiar,  Pandulfo  di  Guido.  Missing  that  popular  citizen 
among  those  who  daily  offered  their  homage  at  the  Capitol,  he 
had  sent  for  him,  and  sought  in  vain  to  revive  their  ancient  in- 
timacy. Pandulfo  affected  great  respect,  but  not  all  the  con- 
descension of  the  Senator  could  conquer  his  distance  and  his 
restraint.  In  fact,  Pandulfo  had  learned  to  form  ambitious 
projects  of  his  own  ;  and  but  for  the  return  of  Rienzi,  Pandulfo 
di  Guido  felt  that  he  might  now,  with  greater  safety,  and  in- 
deed with  some  connivance  from  the  barons,  have  been  the 
Tribune  of  the  People.  The  facility  to  rise  into  popular  emi- 
nence which  a  disordered  and  corrupt  State,  unblest  by  a  regu- 
lar constitution,  offers  to  ambition,  breeds  the  jealousy  and  the 
rivalship  which  destroy  union,  and  rot  away  the  ties  of  party. 

Such  was  the  situation  of  Rienzi,  and  yet,  wonderful  to  say, 
he  seemed  to  be  adored  by  the  multitude  ;  and  law  and  lib- 
erty, life  and  death,  were  in  his  hands  ! 

Of  all  those  who  attended  his  person,  Angelo  Villani  was  the 
most  favored  ;  that  youth,  vvlio  had  accompanied  Rienzi  in  his 
long   exile,  had  filso,  at  the  wish  of  Nina,  attended  him   frgfti 


^82  RIENZI, 

Avignon,  through  his  sojourn  in  the  camp  of  Albornoz.  His 
zeal,  intelligence,  and  frank  and  evident  affection  blinded  the 
Senator  to  the  faults  of  his  character,  and  established  him 
more  and  more  in  the  gratitude  of  Rienzi.  He  loved  to  feel 
that  one  faithful  heart  beat  near  him,  and  the  page,  raised  to 
the  rank  of  his  chamberlain,  always  attended  his  person,  and 
slept  in  his  ante-chamber. 

Retiring  that  night  at  Tivoli,  to  the  apartment  prepared  for 
him,  the  Senator  sat  down  by  the  open  casement,  through 
which  were  seen,  waving  in  the  starlight,  the  dark  pines  that 
crowned  the  hills,  while  the  stillness  of  the  hour  gave  to  his 
ear  the  dash  of  the  waterfalls  heard  above  the  regular  and 
measured  tread  of  the  sentinels  below.  Leaning  his  cheek  upon 
his  hand,  Rienzi  long  surrendered  himself  to  gloomy  thought, 
and,  when  he  looked  up,  he  saw  the  bright  blue  eye  of  Villani 
fixed  in  anxious  sympathy  on  his  countenance. 

"  Is  my  lord  unwell  ?  "  asked  the  young  chamberlain,  hesi- 
tating. 

*'  Not  so,  my  Angelo  ;  but  somewhat  sick  at  heart.  Methinks, 
for  a  September  night,  the  air  is  chill  !  " 

"Angelo,"  resumed  Rienzi,  who  had  already  acquired  that 
uneasy  curiosity  which  belongs  to  an  uncertain  power,  **  An- 
gelo, bring  me  hither  yon  writing  implements  ;  hjist  thou  heard 
aught  what  the  men  say  of  our  probable  success  against  Pales- 
trina?" 

"  Would  my  lord  wish  to  learn  all  their  gossip,  whether  it 
please  or  not  ?  "  answered  Villani. 

"  If  I  studied  only  to  hear  what  pleased  me,  Angelo,  I  should 
never  have  returned  to  Rome." 

'*  Why,  then,  I  heard  a  constable  of  the  Northmen  say, 
meaningly,  that  the  place  will  not  be  carried." 

"  Humph  !  And  what  said  the  captains  of  my  Roman  Le- 
gion  ? 

"  My  lord,  I  have  heard  it  whispered  that  they  fear  defeat 
less  than  they  do  the  revenge  of  the  barons,  if  they  are  suc- 
cessful." 

"  And  with  such  toois  the  living  race  of  Europ?  and  mis- 
judging posterity  will  deem  that  the  workman  is  to  shape  out 
the  Ideal  and  the  Perfect  !     Bring  me  yon  Bible." 

As  Angelo  reverently  brought  to  Rienzi  the  sacred  book,  he 
said  : 

*'  Just  before  I  left  tuy  companions  below,  there  was  a  rumor 
that  the  Lord  Adria*^  t^olonna  had  been  imprisoned  by  his 


THE   LAST   OF  THE   TRIBUNES.  SSj 

^^I  too  heard,  and  I  believe  as  much,"  returned  Rienzi ; 
^"^these  barons  would  gibbet  their  own  children  in  irons,  if 
there  were  any  chance  of  the  shackles  growing  rusty  for  want 
of  prey.  But  the  wicked  shall  be  brought  low,  and  their  strong 
places  shall  be  made  desolate." 

*'I  would,  my  lord,"  said  Villani,  ^  chat  our  Northmen  had 
other  captains  than  these  Provencals." 

"Why?"  asked  Rienzi  abruptly. 

"  Have  the  creatures  of  the  Captain  of  the  Grand  Company 
ever  held  faith  with  any  man  whom  it  suited  the  avarice  or  the 
ambition  of  Montreal  to  betray  ?  Was  he  not  a  few  months 
ago,  the  right  arm  of  John  di  Vico,  and  did  he  not  sell  his  ser- 
vices to  John  di  Vico's  enemy,  the  Cardinal  Albornoz  ?  These 
warriors  barter  men  as  cattle." 

"  Thou  describest  Montreal  rightly  ;  a  dangerous  and  an  awful 
man.  But  methinks  his  brothers  are  of  a  duller  and  meaner 
kind  ;  they  dare  not  the  crimes  of  the  Robber  Captain.  How- 
beit,  Angelo,  thou  hast  touched  a  string  that  will  make  discord 
with  sleep  to-night.  Fair  youth,  thy  young  eyes  have  need  of 
slumber  ;  withdraw,  and  when  thou  hearest  men  envy  Rienzi, 
think  that—" 

*'  God  never  made  Genius  to  be  envied  !  "  interrupted  Vil- 
lani, with  an  energy  that  overcame  respect.  *'  We  envy  not 
the  sun,  but  rather  the  valleys  that  ripen  beneath  his  beams." 

"  Verily,  if  I  be  the  sun,"  said  Rienzi,  with  a  bitter  and  mel- 
ancholy smile,  "  I  long  for  night, — and  come  it  will,  to  the 
human  as  to  the  celestial  Pilgrim  !  Thank  Heaven,  at  least, 
that  our  ambition  cannot  make  us  immortal ! " 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE     BITER     BIT. 

The  next  morning  when  Rienzi  descended  to  the  room 
where  his  captains  awaited  him,  his  quick  eye  perceived  that  a 
cloud  still  lowered  upon  the  brow  of  Messere  Brettone.  Arim- 
baldo,  sheltered  by  the  recess  of  tlie  rude  casement,  shunned 
his  eye. 

"A  fair  morning,  gentles,"  said  Rienzi;  "the  sun  laughs 
upon  our  enterprise.  1  have  messengers  from  Rome  betimes : 
fresh  troops  will  join  us  ere  noon." 

".I  am  glad,  Senator,"  answered  Brettone,  "that  you  hav^ 


384  r:en2i, 

tidings  which  will  counteract  the  ill  of  those  I  have  to  narrate 
to  thee.  The  soldiers  murmur  loudly — their  pay  is  due  to 
them;  and,  I  fear  me,  that  without  money  they  will  not  march 
to  Palestrina." 

"As  they  will,"  returned  Rienzi  carelessly.  "  It  is  hut  a  few 
days  since  they  entered  Rome  ;  pay  did  they  receive  in  ad- 
vance— if  they  demand  more,  the  Colonna  and  Orsini  may  out- 
bid me.     Draw  off  your  soldiers,  Sir  Knight,  and  farewell." 

Brettone's  countenance  fell ;  it  was  his  object  to  get  Kienzf 
more  and  more  in  his  power,  and  he  wished  not  to  suffer  him 
to  gain  that  strength  which  would  accrue  to  him  from  the  falJ 
of  Palestrina:  the  indifference  of  the  Senator  foiled  and  en- 
trapped him  in  his  own  net. 

*'That  must  not  be,"  said  the  brother  of  Montreal,  after  a 
confused  silence,  '*  we  cannot  leave  you  thus  to  your  enemies; 
the  soldiers,  it  is  true,  demand  pay — " 

"  And  should  have  it,"  said  Rienzi.  "I  know  these  mer- 
cenaries ;  it  is  ever  with  them,  mutiny  or  money.  I  will  throw 
myself  on  my  Romans,  and  triumph — or  fall,  if  so  Heaven  de- 
crees, with  them.     Acquaint  your  constables  with  my  resolve." 

Scarce  were  these  words  spoken,  ere,  as  previously  concerted 
with  Brettone,  the  chief  constable  of  the  mercenaries  appeared 
at  the  door.  "  Senator,"  said  he,  with  a  rough  semblance  of 
respect,  "  your  orders  to  march  have  reached  me,  I  have  sought 
to  marshal  my  men — but — " 

"  I  know  what  thou  wouldst  say,  friend,"  interrupted  Rienzi, 
waving  his  hand  :  "  Messere  Brettone  will  give  you  my  reply. 
Another  time.  Sir  Captain,  more  ceremony  with  the  Senator  of 
Rome.     You  may  withdraw." 

The  unforeseen  dignity  of  Rienzi  rebuked  and  abashed  the 
constable;  he  looked  at  Brettone,  who  motioned  him  to  depart. 
He  closed  the  door  and  withdrew. 

*'  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  said  Brettone. 

''  Sir  Knight,"  said  Rienzi  gravely,  "let  us  understand  each 
other.  Would  you  serve  me  or  not  ?  If  the  first,  you  are  not 
my  equal,  but  subordinate — and  you  must  obey  and  not  dictate  ; 
if  the  last,  my  debt  to  you  shall  be  discharged,  and  the  world 
is  wide  enough  for  both." 

"We  have  declared  allegiance  to  you,"  answered  Brettone, 
"  and  it  shall  be  given." 

"  One  caution  before  I  re-accept  your  fealty,"  replied  Rienzi, 
very  slowly.  "  For  an  open  foe,  1  have  my  sword  ;  for  a  trai- 
tor, mark  me,  Rome  has  the  axe  ;  of  the  first  I  have  no  fear  j 
for  the  last,  no  mercy." 


THE   LAST   OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  385 

"These  are  not  words  that  should  pass  between  friends," 
said  Brettone,  turning  pale  with  suppressed  emotion. 

"Friends!  Ye  are  my  friends,  then! — your  hands  !  Friends, 
so  ye  are  ! — and  shall  prove  it  !  Dear  Arimbaldo,  thou,  like 
myself,  art  book-learned, — a  clerkly  soldier.  Dost  ihou  remem- 
ber how  in  the  Roman  history  it  is  told  that  the  Treasury 
lacked  money  for  the  soldiers  ?  The  Consul  convened  the 
nobles.  '  Ye,*  said  he,  *  that  have  the  offices  and  dignity  siionld 
be  the  first  to  pay  for  them.*  Ye  heed  me,  my  friends  ;  the^, 
nobles  took  the  hint,  they  found  the  money — the  army  was 
paid.  This  example  is  not  lost  on  you.  I  have  made  you  the 
leaders  of  my  force,  Rome  hath  showered  her  honors  on  you. 
Your  generosity  shall  commence  the  example  which  the  Romans 
shall  thus  learn  of  strangers.  Ye  gaze  at  me,  my  friends  !  I 
read  your  noble  souls,  and  thank  ye  beforehand.  Ye  have  the 
dignity  and  the  office  ;  ye  have  also  the  wealth  ! — pay  the  hire- 
lings, pay  them  !  "* 

Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  at  the  feet  of  Brettone,  he  could 
not  have  been  more  astounded  than  at  this  simple  suggestion 
of  Rienzi's.  He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  Senator's  face,  and  saw 
there  that  smile  which  he  had  already,  bold  as  he  was,  learned 
to  dread.  He  felt  himself  fairly  sunk  in  the  pit  he  had  digged 
for  another.  There  was  that  in  the  Senator-Tribune's  brow 
that  told  him  to  refuse  was  to  declare  open  war,  and  the  mo- 
ment was  not  ripe  for  that. 

"  Ye  accede,"  said  Rienzi ;  "ye  have  done  well.'* 

The  Senator  clapped  his  hands — h's  guard  appeared. 

"  Summon  the  head  constables  of  the  soldiery." 

The  brothers  still  remained  dumb. 

The  constables  entered. 

**  My  friends,"  said  Rienzi,  "Messere  Brettone  and  Messere 
Arimbaldo  have  my  directions  to  divide  amongst  your  force  a 
thousand  florins.    This  evening  we  encamp  beneath  Palestrina." 

The  constables  withdrew  in  visible  surprise.  Rienzi  gazed 
a  moment  on  the  brothers,  chuckling  within  himself,  for  his 
sarcastic  humor  enjoyed  his  triumph.  "You  lament  not  your 
devotion,  my  friends  !  " 

"  No,"  said  Brettone,  rousing  himself  ;  "  the  sum  but  trivially 
swells  our  debt." 

"  Frankly  said — your  hands  once  more  !  The  good  people 
of  Tivoli  expect  me  in  the  Piazza — they  require  some  admoni- 
tions.    Adieu  till  noon." 

When  the  door  closed  on  Rienzi,  Brettone  struck  the  handle 

*  See  the  anonymous  biographer,  lib.  ii.,  cap.  19. 


3^6  l:IEN2I, 

cf  his  sword  fiercely.  "The  Roman  laughs  at  us,"  said  he. 
**  But  let  Walter  de  Montreal  once  appear  in  Rome,  and  thr 
proud  jester  sliall  pay  us  dearly  for  this." 

"  Hush,"  said  Arimbaldo,  "  walls  have  ears,  and  that  imp  of 
Satan,  young  Villani,  seems  to  me  ever  at  our  heels  i  " 

"  A  thousand  Horins  !  I  trust  his  heart  halh  as  many  drops," 
growled  the  chafed  Brettone,  unheeding  his  brother. 

The  soldiers  were  paid — the  army  marched — the  eloquence 
of  the  Senator  had  augmented  his  force  by  volunteers  from 
Tivoli,  and  wild  and  half-armed  peasantry  joined  his  standard 
from  the  Campagna  and  the  neighboring  mountains. 

Palestrina  was  besieged  :  Rienzi  continued  dexterously  to 
watch  the  brothers  of  Montreal.  Under  pretext  of  imparting 
to  the  Italian  volunteers  the  advantage  of  their  military  science, 
he  separated  them  from  their  mercenaries,  and  assigned  to 
them  the  command  of  the  less  disciplined  Italians,  with  whom, 
he  believed,  they  could  not  venture  to  tamper.  He  himself  as- 
sumed the  lead  of  the  Northmen  ;  and,  despite  themselves, 
they  were  fascinated  by  his  artful  yet  dignified  affability,  and 
the  personal  courage  he  displayed  in  some  sallies  of  the  be- 
sieged barons.  But  as  the  uuntsmen  upon  all  the  subtlest 
windings  of  their  prey,  so  pressed  the  relentless  and  speeding 
Fates  upon  Cola  di  Rienzi ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  EVENTS  GATHER   TO   THE   END. 

While  this  the  state  of  the  camp  of  the  besiegers,  Luca  di 
Savelli  and  Stefanello  Colonna  were  closeted  with  a  stranger, 
v/ho  had  privately  entered  Palestrina  on  the  night  before  the 
Romans  pitched  their  tents  beneath  its  walls.  This  visitor, 
•vho  might  have  somewhat  passed  his  fortieth  year,  yet  re- 
tained, scarcely  diminished,  the  uncommon  beauty  of  form  and 
countenance  for  which  his  youth  had  been  remarkable.  But 
it  was  no  longer  thnt  character  of  beauty  which  has  been  de- 
scribed in  his  first  introduction  to  the  reader.  It  was  no  longer 
the  almost  womanly  delicacy  of  feature  and  complexion,  or 
+.he  highborn  polish  and  graceful  suavity  of  manner  which  dis- 
tinguished Waller  de  Montreal  :  a  life  of  vicissitude  and  war 
■lad  at  length  done  its  work.  His  bearing  was  now  abrupt  and 
imperious,  as  that  of  one  accustomed  to  rule  wild  spirits,  and 


THE    LAST   OF   THE    TRIBUNES.  387 

he  had  exchanged  the  grace  of  persuasion  for  the  stemnccs  of 
command.  His  athletic  form  had  grown  more  spare  and  sin- 
ewy, and  instead  of  the  brow  half-shaded  by  fair  and  cluster- 
ing curls,  his  forehead,  though  yet  but  slightly  v/rinkled,  was 
completely  bald  at  the  temples ;  and,  by  its  unwonted  height, 
increased  the  dignity  and  manliness  of  his  aspect.  The  bloom 
of  his  complexion  was  faded,  less  by  outward  exposure  than 
inward  thought,  into  a  bronzed  and  settled  paleness  ;  and  his 
features  seemed  more  marked  and  prominent,  as  the  flesh  had 
somewhat  sunk  froia  the  contour  of  the  cheek.  Yet  the 
change  suited  tho  change  of  age  and  circumstance;  and  if  the 
Proven9al  now  less  realized  the  idea  of  the  brave  and  fair  hnight- 
errant,  he  but  looked  the  more  what  the  knight-errant  had  be- 
come— the  sagacious  counsellor  and  the  mighty  leader. 

"  You  must  be  aware,"  said  Montreal,  continuing  a  discourse 
which  appeared  to  have  made  great  impression  on  his  compan- 
ions, '  that  in  this  contest  between  yourselves  and  the  Senator, 
I  alone  hold  the  balance.  Rienzi  is  utterly  in  my  power — my 
brothers,  the  leaders  of  his  army  ;  myself  his  creditor.  It 
rests  with  me  to  secure  him  on  the  throne,  or  to  send  him  to 
the  scaffold.  I  have  but  to  give  the  order,  and  the  Grand 
Company  enter  Rome  ;  but  without  their  agency,  methinks 
if  you  keep  faith  with  me,  our  purpose  can  be  effected." 

"  In  the  mean  while,  Palestrina  is  besieged  by  j^our  broth- 
ers !  "  said  Stefanello  sharply. 

"  But  they  have  my  orders  to  waste  their  time  before  its 
walls.  Do  you  not  see,  that  by  this  very  siege,  fruitless  as,  if  I 
will,  it  shall  be,  Rienzi  loses  fame  abroad,  and  popularity  in 
Rome." 

"  Sir  Knight,"  said  Luca  di  Savelli,  "  you  speak  as  a  man 
versed  in  the  profound  policy  of  the  times  ;  and  under  all 
the  circumstances  which  menace  us,  your  proposal  seems  but 
fitting  and  reasonable.  On  the  one  hand,  you  undertake  to 
restore  us  and  the  other  barons  to  Rome  ;  and  to  give  Rienzi 
to  the  Staircase  of  the  Lion — " 

*'  Not  so,  not  so,"  replied  Montreal  quickly.  *'  I  will  con- 
sent either  so  to  subdue  and  cripple  his  power,  as  to  render  .him 
a  puppet  in  our  hands,  a  mere  shadow  of  authority  ;  or,  if  his 
proud  spirit  chafe  at  its  cage,  to  give  it  once  more  liberty 
amongst  the  wilds  of  Germany.  I  would  fetter  or  banish  him, 
but  not  destroy  ;  unless  (added  Montreal,  after  a  moment's 
pause)  fate  absolutely  drives  us  to  it.  Power  should  not  de- 
ttiind  victims  ;  but  to  secure  it,  victims  may  be  necessary." 

**1  Ufiii«cstAn4  your  refinements,"  said  JUwca  di  SavcIIi,  with 


388  RIENZI, 

his  icy  smile,  "  and  am  satisfied.  The  barons  once  restored,  our 
palaces  once  more  manned,  and  I  am  willing  to  take  the  chance 
of  the  Senator's  longevity.  This  service  you  promise  to 
effect  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

'*  And,  in  return,  you  demand  our  assent  to  your  enjoying  the 
rank  of  Podesta  for  five  years  ?  " 

*'  You  say  right." 

"  I,  for  one,  accede  to  the  terms,"  said  the  Savelli :  "  there 
is  my  hand  I  am  wearied  of  these  brawls,  even  amongst  our- 
selves, and  think  that  a  foreign  ruler  may  best  enforce  or 
der :  the  more  especially,  if  like  you.  Sir  Knight,  one  whose 
birth  and  renown  are  such  as  to  make  him  comprehend  the 
difference  between  barons  and  plebeians." 

''  For  my  part,"  said  Stefanello,  "  I  feel  that  we  have  but  a 
choice  of  evils  :  I  like  not  a  foreign  Podesta  ;  but  I  like  a  ple- 
beian Senator  still  less  ;  there  too  is  my  hand.  Sir  Knight." 

*'  Noble  signors,"  said  Montreal,  after  a  short  pause,  and 
turning  his  piercing  gaze  from  one  to  the  other  with  great  delib- 
eration, "  our  compact  is  sealed  ;  one  word  by  way  of  codicil. 
Walter  de  Montreal  is  no  Count  Pepin  of  Minorbino  !  Once 
before,  little  dreaming,  I  own,  that  the  victory  would  be  so  fac- 
ile, I  intrusted  your  cause  and  mine  to  a  deputy  ;  your  cause 
he  promoted,  mine  he  lost.  He  drove  out  the  Tribune,  and 
then  suffered  the  barons  to  banish  himself.  This  time  I 
see  to  my  own  affairs  ;  and,  mark  you,  I  have  learned  in  the 
Grand  Company  one  lesson  :  viz.,  never  to  pardon  spy  or  de- 
serter, of  whatever  rank.  Your  forgiveness  for  the  hint.  Let 
us  change  the  theme.  So  ye  detain  in  your  fortress  my  old 
friend  the  Baron  di  Castello  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  said  Luca  di  Savelli  ;  for  Stefanello,  stung  by  Mon- 
treal's threat,  which  he  dared  not  openly  resent,  preserved  a 
sullen  silence  ;  "Ay,  he  is  one  noble  the  less  to  the  Senator's 
Council," 

"  You  act  wisely.  I  know  his  views  and  temper ;  at  present 
dangerous  to  our  interests.  Yet  use  him  well,  I  entreat  you  ; 
he  may  hereafter  serve  us.  And  now,  my  lords,  my  eyes  are 
weary,  PAilTer  me  to  retire.  Pleasant  dreams  of  the  New  Rev- 
olution to  us  all  I  " 

"  By  your  leave,  noble  Montreal,  we  will  attend  you  to  your 
couch,"  said  Luca  di  Savelli. 

"  By  my  troth,  and  ye  shall  not.  I  am  no  Tribune  to  have 
great  signors  for  my  pages  ;  but  a  plain  ^etltleman,  and  a  hardy 
«Hd«<»f  r  your  atutid«nts  v/iW  conduct  ma  tt  whatevtr  chambeC 


THE  LAST  OF  iHE  TRIBUNES.  389 

your  hospitality  assigns  to  one  who  could  sleep  soundly  beneath 
the  rudest  hedge  under  your  open  skies." 

Savelli,  however,  insisted  on  conducting  the  Podesta  that 
was  to  be  to  his  apartment.  He  then  returned  to  Stefanello, 
whom  he  found  pacing  the  saloon  with  long  and  disordered 
strides. 

"  What  have  we  done,  Savelli  ?  "  said  he  quickly  ;  "  sold  oui 
city  to  a  barbarian  !  " 

"  Sold  !  "  said  Savelli  ;  "  to  my  mind  it  is  the  other  part  of 
the  contract  in  which  we  have  played  our  share.  We  have 
bought,  Colonna,  not  sold — bought  our  lives  from  yon  army ; 
bought  our  power,  our  fortunes,  our  castles,  from  the  Dema- 
gogue Senator  :  bought,  what  is  better  than  all,  triumph  and  re- 
venge. Tush,  Colonna,  see  you  not  that  if  we  had  balked  this 
great  warrior,  we  had  perished  ?  Leagued  with  the  Senator, 
the  Grand  Company  would  have  marched  to  Rome  ;  and, 
whether  Montreal  assisted  or  murdered  Rienzi  (for  methinks 
he  is  a  Romulus,  who  would  brook  no  Remus),  we  had  equally 
been  undone.  Now^  we  have  made  our  own  terms,  and  our 
shares  are  equal.  Nay,  the  first  steps  to  be  taken  are  in  our 
favor.  Rienzi  is  to  be  snared,  and  we  are  to  enter  Rome." 
"  And  then  the  Proven9al  is  to  be  despot  of  the  city." 
"  Podesta,  if  you  please.  Podestas  who  offend  the  people 
are  often  banished,  and  sometimes  stoned  ;  Podestas  who  insult 
the  nobles  are  often  stilettoed,  and  sometimes  poisoned,"  said 
Savelli.  "*  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  *  Mean- 
while, say  nothing  to  the  bear,  Orsini.  Such  men  mar  all 
wisdom.     Come,  cheer  thee,  Stefanello." 

"  Luca  di  Savelli,  you  have  not  such  a  stake  in  Rome  as  I 
have,"  said  the  young  lord  haughtily  ;  "  no  Podesta  can  take 
ixovayou  the  rank  of  the  first  signor  of  the  Italian  metropolis  !  '* 
"An  you  had  said  so  to  the  Orsini,  there  would  have  been 
drawing  of  swords,"  said  Savelli.  "  But  cheer  thee,  I  say  ;  is 
noc  our  first  care  to  destroy  Rienzi,  and  then,  between  the 
death  of  one  foe  and  the  rise  of  another,  are  there  not  such 
preventives  as  Ezzelino  da  Romano  has  taught  to  wary  men  ? 
Cheer  thee,  I  say  ;  and,  next  year,  if  we  but  hold  together, 
Stefanello  Colonna  and  Luca  di  Savelli  will  be  joint  Senators  of 
Rome,  and  these  great  me'a  food  for  worms  !  " 

While  thus  conferred  the  barons,  Montreal,  ere  he  retired  to 
rest,  stood  gazing  from  the  open  lattice  of  his  chamber  over  the 
landscape  below,  which  slept  in  the  autumnal  moonlight,  while 
at  a  distance  gleamed,  pale  and  steady,  the  lights  round  the 
encampment  of  the  besiegers^ 


390  RIENZI, 

"  Wi^e  plains  and  broad  valleys,*'  thought  the  warrior, "soon 
[;hall  y:  repose  i  i  peace  beneath  a  new  sway,  against  which  no 
petty  tyrant?  shall  dare  rebel.  And  ye,  white  walls  of  canvas, 
even  while  I  {;aze,  j'^  admonish  me  how  realms  are  won.  Even 
as,  of  old,  from  the  Nomad  tents  was  built  up  the  stately  Baby- 
lon,••  that  '  was  not  till  the  Assyrian  founded  it  for  them  that 
dv/cll  in  the  wilderness  ';  so  by  the  new  Ishmaelites  of  Europe 
::hall  a  race,  undreamt  of  now,  be  founded  ;  and  the  camp  of 
yesterday  be  the  city  of  to-morrow.  Verily,  when,  for  one  soft 
offence,  the  Pontiff  thrust  me  from  the  bosom  of  the  Church, 
little  guessed  he  what  enemy  he  raised  to  Rome  !  How  solemn 
\z  the  night  I  how  still  the  heavens  and  earth  !  the  very  stars 
arc  as  hushed  as  if  intent  on  the  events  that  are  to  pass  below  ! 
So  solemn  and  so  still  feels  mine  own  spirit,  and  an  awe  un- 
knov/n  till  now  warns  me  that  I  approach  the  crisis  of  my  daring 
fate  I  " 


BOOK   X. 

THE  LION  OF  BASALT. 

"  Ora  voglio  contare  la  morte  del  Tribuno." —  Fii.  di  Cola  di  Rienzi,  lib. 
ii  ,  cap.  24. 

"  Now  will  I  narrate  the  death  of  the  Tribune."— Z//"^  #/  Oh  di  Rienzi, 


CHAPTER  L 

THE   CONJUNCTION   OF    HOSTILE    PLANETS  IN   THE   HOUSE 

OF   DEATH. 

On  the  fourth  day  of  the  siege,  and  after  beating  back  to 
ihose  almost  impregnable  walls  the  soldiery  of  the  barons, 
headed  by  the  Prince  of  the  Orsini,  the  Senator  returned  to  his 
tent,  where  despatches  from  Rome  awaited  him.  He  ran  his 
eye  hastily  over  them,  till  he  came  to  the  last  ;  yet  each  con- 
tained news  that  might  have  longer  delayed  the  eye  of  a  man 
less  inured  to  danger.  From  one  he  learned  that  Albornoz, 
whose  blessing  had  confirmed  to  him  the  rank  of  Senator,  had 
received  with  special  favor  the  messengers  of  the  Orsini  and 

'  Isaiah,  c.  xxii. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  39I 

Colonna.  He  knew  that  the  Cardinal,  whose  views  connected 
him  with  the  Roman  patricians,  desired  his  downfall  ;  but  he 
feared  not  Albornoz :  perhaps  in  his  secret  heart  he  wished 
that  any  open  aggression  from  the  Pontiff's  Legate  might  throw 
him  wholly  on  the  people. 

He  learned  further,  that,  short  as  had  been  his  absence, 
Pandulfo  di  Guido  had  twice  addressed  the  populace,  not  in 
favor  of  the  Senator,  but  in  artful  regrets  of  the  loss  to  the 
trade  of  Rome  in  the  absence  of  her  wealthiest  nobles. 

'  For  this,  then,  he  has  deserted  me,"  said  Rienzi  to  himself. 
"Let  him  beware  !  " 

The  tidings  contained  in  the  next  touched  him  home  : 
Walter  de  Montreal  had  openly  arrived  in  Rome.  The  grasping 
and  lawless  bandit,  whose  rapine  filled  with  a  robber's  booty 
every  bank  in  Europe  ;  whose  Company  was  the  army  of  a 
King  ;  whose  ambition,  vast,  unprincipled,  and  profound,  he  so 
well  knew  ;  whose  brothers  were  in  his  camp — their  treason 
already  more  than  suspected  ; — Walter  de  Montreal  was  in 
Rome ! 

The  Senator  remained  perfectly  aghast  at  this  new  peril ; 
and  then  said,  setting  his  teeth  as  in  a  vise  : 

*'  Wild  tiger,  thou  art  in  the  Lion's  den  !  "  Then  pausing, 
he  broke  out  again  :  *'  One  false  step,  Walter  de  Montreal,  and 
all  the  mailed  hands  of  the  Grand  Company  shall  not  pluck 
Ihee  from  the  abyss  !  But  what  can  I  do  ?  Return  to  Rome — 
the  plans  of  Montreal  unpenetrated — no  accusation  against 
him  !  On  what  pretence  can  I  with  honor  raise  the  siege?  To 
leave  Palestrina  is  to  give  a  triumph  to  the  barons  ;  to  abandon 
Adrian,  to  degrade  my  cause.  Yet,  while  away  from  Rome, 
every  hour  breeds  treason  and  danger.  Pandulfo,  Albornoz,Mor- 
treal — all  are  at  work  against  me.  A  keen  and  trusty  spy,  noA. 
— ha,  well  thought  of — Villani  !     What,  ho — Angelo  Villani  I'* 

The  young  chamberlain  appeared. 

"  I  think,"  said  Rienzi,  "  to  have  often  heard  that  thou  art  an 
orphan  ? " 

"True,  my  lord;  the  old  Augustine  nun  who  reared  my 
boyhood  hac  told  me  again  and  again  that  my  parents  are  dead. 
Both  noble,  my  lord  ;  but  I  am  the  child  of  shame.  And  I 
say  it  often,  and  think  of  it  ever,  in  order  to  make  Angelo 
Villani  remember  that  he  has  a  name  to  win." 

Young  man,  serve  me  as  you  have  served,  and  if  I  live  you 
shall  have  no  need  to  call  yourself  an  orphan.  Mark  me  !  I 
want  a  friend — the  Sen;it('r  of  Rome  wants  a  friend — only  one 
friend — gentle  Heaven  !  only  one  }  " 


392  RIENZI, 

Angelo  sank  on  his  knee,  and  kissed  the  mantle  of  his  lord 

*'  Say  a  follower.     I  am  too  mean  to  be  Rienzi's  friend." 

"Too  mean  ! — go  to  !  There  is  nothing  mean  before  God, 
unless  it  be  a  base  soul  under  high  titles.  With  me,  boy,  there 
is  bet  one  nobility,  and  Nature  signs  its  charter.  Listen  :  thou 
hearest  daily  of  Walter  de  Montreal,  brother  to  these  Proven- 
cals— great  captain  of  great  robbers  ?  " 

*'  Ay,  and  I  have  seen  him,  my  lord." 

"  Well,  then,  he  is  in  Rome.  Some  daring  thought,  some 
well-supported  and  deep-schemed  villany,  could  alone  make 
that  bandit  venture  openly  into  an  Italian  city,  whose  territories 
he  ravaged  by  fire  and  sword  a  few  months  back.  But  his 
brothers  have  lent  me  money — assisted  my  return  ;  for  their 
own  ends,  it  is  true  :  but  the  seeming  obligation  gives  them 
real  power.  These  Northern  swordsmen  would  cut  my  throat 
if  the  Great  Captain  bade  them.  He  counts  on  my  supposed 
weakness.  I  know  him  of  old.  I  suspect,  nay  I  read,  his  pro- 
jects ;  but  I  cannot  prove  them.  Without  proof  I  cannot 
desert  Palestrina  in  order  to  accuse  and  seize  him.  Thou  art 
shrewd,  thoughtful,  acute  ;  couldst  thou  go  to  Rome  ? — watch 
day  and  night  his  movements  ;  see  if  he  receive  messengers 
from  Albornoz  or  the  barons  ;  if  he  confer  with  Pandulfo  di 
Guido  ;  watch  his  lodgment,  I  say,  night  and  day.  He  affects 
no  concealment  ;  your  task  will  be  less  difficult  than  it  seems. 
Apprise  the  Signora  of  all  you  learn.  Give  me  your  news  daily. 
Will  you  undertake  this  mission  ?  " 

"  I  will,  my  lord." 

"  To  horse,  then,  quick !  And  mind,  save  the  wife  of  my 
bosom,  I  have  no  confidant  in  Rome." 


CHAPTER  11. 

MONTREAL  AT  ROME. — HIS  RECEPTION  OF  ANGELO  VILLANl. 

The  danger  that  threatened  Rienzi  by  the  arrival  of  Mont« 
real  was  indeed  formidable.  The  Knight  of  St.  John,  having 
marched  his  army  into  Lombardy,  had  placed  it  at  the  disposal 
of  the  Venetian  State  i.i  its  war  v/ith  the  Archbishop  of  Milar.. 
For  this  service  he  received  an  immense  sum  ;  while  he  pro- 
vided winter  quarters  for  his  troop,  for  v/hom  he  proposed 
am[)lc  work  in  the  ensuing  spring.  I,eaving  Palestrina  secretly 
and  in  disguise,  with  bu(  a  slender  train,  whigh  Riet  him  9,t 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  393 

Tivoli,  Montreal  repaired  to  Rome.  His  ostensible  object  was, 
partly  to  congratulate  the  Senator  on  his  return,  partly  to 
receive  the  moneys  lent  to  Rienzi  by  his  brother. 

His  secret  object  we  have  partly  seen  ;  but  not  contented 
with  the  support  of  the  barons,  he  trusted,  by  the  corrupting 
means  of  his  enormous  wealth,  to  form  a  third  party  in  support 
of  his  own  ulterior  designs.  Wealth,  indeed,  in  that  age  and 
in  that  land,  was  scarcely  less  the  purchaser  of  diadems  than  it 
had  been  in  the  later  days  of  the  Roman  Empire.  And  in 
many  a  city  torn  by  hereditary  feuds  the  hatred  of  faction  rose 
to  that  extent,  that  a  foreign  tyrant,  willing  and  able  to  expel 
one  party,  might  obtain  at  least  the  temporary  submission  of 
the  other.  His  after-success  was  greatly  in  proportion  to  his 
power  to  maintain  his  state  by  a  force  which  was  independent 
of  the  citizens,  and  by  a  treasury  which  did  not  require  the 
odious  recruit  of  taxes.  But  more  avaricious  than  ambitious, 
more  cruel  than  firm,  it  was  by  griping  exaction,  or  unneces- 
sary bloodshed,  that  such  usurpers  usually  fell. 

Montreal,  who  had  scanned  the  frequent  revolutions  of  the 
time  with  a  calm  and  investigating  eye,  trusted  that  he  should 
be  enabled  to  avoid  both  these  errors  ;  and,  as  the  reader  has 
already  seen,  he  had  formed  the  profound  and  sagacious  pro- 
ject of  consolidating  his  usurpation  by  an  utterly  new  race  of 
nobles,  who,  serving  him  by  the  feudal  tenure  of  the  North, 
and  ever  ready  to  protect  him,  because  in  so  doing  they  pro- 
tected their  own  interests,  should  assist  to  erect,  not  the  rotten 
and  unsupported  fabric  of  a  single  tyranny,  but  the  strong 
fortress  of  a  new,  hardy,  and  compact  aristocratic  State.  Thus 
iiad  the  great  dynasties  of  the  North  been  founded,  in  which  a 
king,  though  seemingly  curbed  by  the  barons,  was  in  reality 
supported  by  a  common  interest,  whether  against  a  subdued 
population  or  a  foreign  invasion. 

Such  were  the  vast  schemes — extending  into  yet  wider  fields 
of  glory  and  conquest,  bounded  only  by  the  Alps — with  which 
the  Captain  of  the  Grand  Company  beheld  the  columns  and 
arches  of  the  Seven-hilled  City. 

No  fear  disturbed  the  long  current  of  his  thoughts.  His 
brothers  were  the  leaders  of  Rienzi's  hireling  army — that  army 
were  his  creatures.  Over  Rienzi  himself  he  assumed  the  right 
of  a  creditor.  Thus  against  one  party  he  deemed  himself 
secure.  For  the  friends  of  the  Pope,  he  had  supported  himself 
with  private,  though  cautious  letters  from  Albornoz,  who  de- 
sired only  to  make  use  of  hira  for  the  return  of  the  Roman 
barons  ;  and  with  tb?  heads  of  the  letter  we  have  already  wit- 


394  RIENZI, 

nessed  liis  negotiations.  Thus  was  he  fitted,  as  he  thought,  to 
examine,  to  tamper  with  all  parties,  and  to  select  from  each 
the  materials  necessary  for  his  own  objects. 

The  open  appearance  of  Montreal  excited  in  Rome  no  incon- 
siderable sensation.     The  friends  of    the  barons  gave  out  that 
Rienzi  was  in  league  with  the  Grand    Company  ;  and  that   he      j 
was  to  sell  the  Imperial  City  to  the  plunder  and  pillage  of  bar-      I 
barian  robbers.     The  effrontery  with  which  Montreal  (against      I 
whom,  more  than  once,  the  Pontiff    had   thundered  his   bulls) 
appeared  in  the    Metropolitan   City  of  the   Church,  was  made 
yet  more  insolent  by  the  recollection  of  that  stern  justice  which      j 
had  led  the  Tribune  to  declare  open  war  against  all  the  rob- 
bers of  Italy  ;  and  this  audacity  was   linked  with    the  obvious 
reflection,  that  the  brothers  of  the  bold  Provencal  were  the  in- 
struments of   Rienzi's   return.     So  quickly  spread  suspicion      i 
through  the  city,  that  Montreal's  presence  alone  would  in  a      3 
few  weeks  have  sufficed  to  ruin  the  Senator.      Meanwhile,  the 
natural  boldness  of  Montreal  silenced  every  whisper   of   pru- 
dence ;  and,  blinded  by  the  dazzle  of  his  hopes,   the  Knight 
of  St.  John,  as  if  to  give  double   importance  to  his  coming, 
took    up    his    residence    in    a    sumptuous    palace,    and    his 
retinue     rivalled,     in     the    splendor    of    garb     and     pomp, 
the  display  of    Rienzi  himself   in  his  earlier  and  more  bril- 
liant power. 

Amidst  the  growing  excitement  Angelo*  Villani  arrived  at 
Rome.  The  character  of  this  young  man  had  been  formed  by 
his  peculiar' circumstances.  He  possessed  qualities  which 
often  mark  the  illegitimate  as  with  a  common  stamp.  He  was 
insolent — like  most  of  those  who  hold  a  doubtful  rank  ;  and 
while  ashamed  of  his  bastardy,  was  arrogant  of  the  supposed 
nobility  of  his  unknown  parentage.  The  universal  ferment  and 
agitation  of  Italy  at  that  day  rendered  ambition  the  most  com- 
mon of  all  the  passions,  and  thus  ambition,  in  all  its  many 
shades  and  varieties,  forces  itself  into  our  delineations  of 
character  in  this  history.  Though  not  for  Angelo  Villani 
were  the  dreams  of  the  more  lofty  and  generous  order  of  that 
sublime  infirmity,  he  was  strongly  incited  by  the  desire  and 
resolve  to  rise.  He  had  warm  affections  and  grateful  im- 
pulses ;  and  his  fidelity  to  his  patron  had  been  carried  to  a 
virtue  :  but  from  his  irregulated  and  desultory  education,  and 
the  reckless  profligacy  of  those  with  whom,  in  ante-chambers 
and  guard-rooms,  much  of  his  youth  had  been  passed,  he  had 
neither  high  principles  nor  an  enlightened  honor.  Like  most 
Jtaliar^s  cunning  and  shrewd,  he  scrupled  not  at  any  deceit  that 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  395 

served  a  purpose  or  a  friend.  His  strong  attachment  to  Rienzi 
had  been  unconsciously  increased  by  the  gratification  of  pride 
and  vanity,  flattered  by  the  favor  of  so  celebrated  a  man. 
Both  self-interest  and  attachment  urged  him  to  every  effort  to 
promote  the  views  and  safety  of  one  at  once  his  benefactor 
and  patron  ;  and  on  undertaking  his  present  mission,  his  only 
thought  was  to  fulfil  it  with  the  most  complete  success.  Far 
more  brave  and  daring  than  was  common  with  the  Italians, 
something  of  the  hardihood  of  an  Ultramontane  race  gave 
nerve  and  vigor  to  his  craft ;  and  from  what  his  art  suggested 
his  courage  never  shrunk. 

When  Rienzi  had  first  detailed  to  him  the  objects  of  his 
present  task,  he  instantly  called  to  mind  his  adventure  with 
the  tall  soldier  in  the  crowd  at  Avignon.  "  If  ever  thou  want- 
est  a  friend,  seek  him  in  Walter  de  Montreal,"  were  words  that 
that  had  often  rung  in  his  ear,  and  they  now  recurred  to  him 
with  prophetic  distinctness.  He  had  no  doubt  that  it  was 
Montreal  himself  whom  he  had  seen.  Why  the  Great  Captain 
should  have  taken  this  interest  in  him  Angelo  little  cared  to 
conjecture.  Most  probably  it  was  but  a  crafty  pretence — one 
of  the  common  means  by  which  the  Chief  of  the  Grand  Company 
attracted  to  himself  the  youths  of  Italy,  as  well  as  the  war- 
riors of  the  North,  He  only  thought  now  how  he  could  turn 
the  knight's  promise  to  account.  What  more  easy  than  to  pre- 
sent himself  to  Montreal — remind  him  of  the  v/ords — enter  his 
service — and  thus  effectually  watch  his  conduct  ?  The  office 
of  spy  was  not  that  which  would  have  pleased  every  mind,  but 
it  shocked  not  the  fastidiousness  of  Angelo  Villani  :  and  the 
fearful  hatred  with  which  his  patron  had  often  spoken  of  the 
avaricious  and  barbarian  robber — the  scourge  of  his  native 
land — had  infected  the  young  man,  who  had  much  of  the  arro- 
gant and  mock  patriotism  of  the  Romans,  with  a  similar  senti- 
ment. More  vindictive  even  than  grateful,  he  bore,  too,  a 
secret  grudge  against  Montreal's  brothers,  whose  rough  address 
had  often  wounded  his  pride  ;  and,  above  all,  his  early  recol- 
lections of  the  fear  and  execration  in  which  Ursula  seemed 
ever  to  hold  the  terrible  Fra  Moreale,  impressed  him  with  a 
vague  belief  of  some  ancient  wrong  to  himself  or  his  race 
perpetrated  by  the  Proven9al,  which  he  was  not  ill-pleased  to 
have  the  occasion  to  avenge.  In  truth,  the  words  of  Ursula, 
mystic  and  dark  as  they  were  in  their  denunciation,  had  left 
upon  Villani'p  boyish  impressions  an  unaccountable  feeling  of 
antipathy  and  hatred  to  the  man  it  was  now  his  object  to  be- 
tray.    For  the  rest,  every  device  seemed  to  him  decorous  and 


396  RiEN^t 


justifiable,  so  that  it  saved  his  master,  served  his  country,  and 
advanced  himself. 

Montreal  was  alone  in  his  chamber  when  it  was  announced  to 
him  that  a  young  Italian  craved  an  audience.  Professionally 
open  to  access,  he  forthwith  gave  admission  to  the  applicant. 

The  Knight  of  St.  John  instantly  recognized  the  page  he  had 
encountered  at  Avignon  ;  and  when  Angelo  Villani  said,  with 
easy  boldness,  "  I  have  come  to  remind  Sir  Walter  de  Montreal 
of  a  promise — " 

The  knight  interrupted  him  with  cordial  frankness  :  "  Tho« 
needest  not — I  remember  it.  Dost  thou  now  require  my 
friendship  ?  " 

*'  I  do,  noble  signor  !  "  answered  Angelo  ;  "  I  know  not  where 
else  to  seek  a  patron." 

"  Canst  thou  read  and  write  ?     I  fear  me  not." 

*'  I  have  been  taught  those  arts,"  replied  Villani. 

*'  It  is  well.     Is  thy  birth  gentle  ?  " 

**It  is." 

*'  Better  still ;  thy  name  ?  " 

**  Angelo  Villani." 

"  I  take  thy  blue  eyes  and  low  broad  brow,**  said  Montreal, 
with  a  slight  sigh,  "  in  pledge  of  thy  truth.  Henceforth,  Angelo 
Villani,  thou  art  in  the  list  of  my  secretaries.  Another  time 
thou  shalt  tell  me  more  of  thyself.  Thy  service  dates  fiom  this 
day.  For  the  rest,  no  man  ever  wanted  wealth  who  served 
Walter  de  Montreal  ;  nor  advancement,  if  he  served  him  faith- 
fully. My  closet,  through  yonder  door,  is  thy  waiting-room. 
Ask  for,  and  send  hither,  Lusignan  of  Lyons ;  he  is  my  chief 
scribe,  and  will  see  to  thy  comforts,  and  instruct  thee  in  thy 
business." 

Angelo  withdrew  ;  Montreal's  eye  followed  him. 

"  A  strange  likeness  !  "  said  he,  musingly  and  sadly ;  "  my 
heart  leaps  to  that  boy  I  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

Montreal's  banquet. 

Some  few  days  after  the  date  of  the  last  chapter  Rienzi  re- 
ceived news  from  Rome  which  seemed  to  produce  in  him  a  joy- 
ous and  elated  excitement.  His  troops  still  lay  before  Pales- 
trina,  and  still  the  banners  of  the  barons  waved  over  its  uncoiv 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  397 

quered  walls.  In  truth,  the  Italians  employed  half  their  time 
in  brawls  amongst  themselves  ;  the  Velletritrani  had  feuds  with 
the  people  of  Tivoli,  and  the  Romans  were  still  afraid  of  con- 
quering the  barons :  "The  hornet,"  said  they,  "stings  worse 
after  he  is  dead  ;  and  neither  an  Orsini,  a  Savelli,  nor  a  Co- 
lonna,  was  ever  known  to  forgive." 

Again  and  again  had  the  captains  of  his  army  assured  the 
indignant  Senator  that  the  fortress  was  impregnable,  and  that 
time  and  money  were  idly  wasted  upon  the  siege.  Rienzi  knew 
better,  but  he  concealed  his  thoughts. 

He  now  summoned  to  his  tent  the  brothers  of  Provence,  and 
announced  to  them  his  intention  of  returning  instantly  to  Rome. 
"The  mercenaries  shall  continue  the  siege  under  our  lieutenant, 
and  you,  with  my  Roman  Legion,  shall  accompany  me.  Your 
brother,  Sir  Walter,  and  I,  both  want  your  presence ;  we  have 
affairs  to  arrange  between  us.  After  a  few  days  I  shall  raise 
recruits  in  the  city,  and  return." 

This  was  what  the  brothers  desired  ;  they  approved,  with  evi 
dent  joy,  the  Senator's  proposition. 

Rienzi  next  sent  for  the  lieutenant  of  his  body-guard,  the 
same  Riccardo  Annibaldi  whom  the  reader  will  remember  in 
the  earlier  part  of  this  work,  as  the  antagonist  of  Montreal's 
lance.  This  young  man — one  of  the  few  nobles  who  espoused 
the  cause  of  the  Senator — had  evinced  great  courage  and  mili- 
tary ability,  and  promised  fair  (should  Fate  spare  his  life  *)  to 
become  one  of  the  best  captains  of  his  time. 

"  Dear  Annibaldi,"  said  Rienzi  ;  "  at  length  I  can  fulfil  the 
project  on  which  we  have  privately  conferred.  I  take  with  me 
to  Rome  the  two  Proven9al  captains — I  leave  you  chief  of  the 
army.  Palestrina  will  yield  now — eh  !  ha,  ha,  ha !  Palestrina 
will  yield  now  !  " 

"  By  my  right  hand,  I  think  so,  Senator,"  replied  Annibaldi. 
'  These  foreigners  have  hitherto  only  stirred  up  quarrels  amongst 
ourselves,  and  if  not  cowards  are  certainly  traitors !  " 

"  Hush,  hush,  hush  !  Traitors  !  The  learned  Arimbaldo, 
the  brave  Brettone,  traitors  !  Fie  on  it  !  No,  no  ;  they  are 
very  excellent,  honorable  men,  but  not  lucky  in  the  camp — not 
lucky  in  the  camp  ;  better  speed  to  them  in  the  city  !  And 
now  to  business." 

The  Senator  then  detailed  to  Annibaldi  the  plan  he  himself 
had  formed  for  taking  the  town,  and  the  military  skill  of  Anni- 
baldi at  once  recognized  its  feasibility. 

*  It  appears  that  this  was  the  same  Annibaldi  Who  was  al'terwards  siftin  «n  an  «Sray  I 


398  RIENZI, 

With  his  Roman  troop,  and  Montreal's  broth'eiS,  one  at 
either  hand,  Rienzi  then  departed  to  Rome. 

That  night  Montreal  gave  a  banquet  to  Pandulfo  di  Guido, 
and  to  certain  of  the  principal  citizens,  whom  one  by  one  he 
had  already  sounded,  and  found  hollow  at  heart  to  the  cause 
of  the  Senator. 

Pandulfo  sate  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Knight  of  St.  John, 
and  Montreal  lavished  upon  him  the  most  courteous  attentions. 

"  Pledge  me  in  this — it  is  from  the  Vale  of  Chiana,  near 
Monte  Pulciano,"  said  Montreal.  *'  I  think  I  have  heard  book- 
men say  (you  know,  Signor  Pandulfo,  we  ought  all  to  be  book- 
men now  !)  that  the  site  was  renowned  of  old.  In  truth,  the 
wine  hath  a  racy  flavor." 

"I  hear,"  said  Bruttini,  one  of  the  lesser  barons  (a  stanch 
friend  to  the  Colonna),  "  thr.t  in  this  respect  the  innkeeper's 
son  has  put  his  book-learninf^  to  some  use  :  he  knows  every 
place  where  the  wine  grows  richest/* 

"  What  !  the  Senator  is  turned  wine-bibber  !  "  said  Mon- 
treal, quaffing  a  vast  goblet  full ;  "  that  must  unfit  him  for 
business — 'tis  a  pity." 

"  Verily,  yes,"  said  Pandulfo  ;  "  a  man  at  the  head  of  a  state 
should  be  temperate — /never  drink  wine  unmixed." 

"  Ah,"  whispered  Montreal,  "  if  your  calm  good  sense  ruled 
Rome,  then,  indeed,  the  metropolis  of  Italy  might  taste  of 
peace„  Signor  Vivaldi," — and  the  host  turned  towards  a 
wealthy  draper — "  these  disturbances  are  bad  for  trade." 

"  Very,  very  !  "  groaned  the  draper. 

**  The  barons  are  your  best  customers,"  quoth  the  minor  noble. 

"  Much,  much  !  "  said  the  draper. 

"  'Tis  a  pity  that  they  are  thus  roughly  expelled,"  said  Mon- 
treal, in  a  melancholy  tone.  *'  Would  it  not  be  possible,  if  the 
Senator  (/  drink  his  health)  were  less  rash — less  zealous, 
rather, — to  unite  free  institutions  with  the  return  of  the 
barons  ? — Such  should  be  the  task  of  a  truly  wise  statesman  !  " 

"It  surely  might  be  possible,"  returned  Vivaldi;  "the  Sa- 
velli  alone  spend  more  with  me  than  all  the  rest  of  Rome." 

"I  know  not  if  it  be  possible,"  said  Bruttini;  "but  I  do 
know  that  it  is  an  outrage  to  all  decorum  that  an  innkeeper's  son 
should  be  enabled  to  make  a  solitude  of  the  palaces  of  Rome." 

"It  certainly  seems  to  indicate  too  vulgar  a  desire  of  mob 
favor,"  said  Montreal.  "However,  I  trust  we  shall  harmonize 
all  these  diipFerenees.     Kiensi,  perhaps«~-*nay.  doubtless — m^aus 


THE   LAST    OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  ^gy 

"I  would,"  said  Vivaldi,  who  had  received  his  cue,  "tViat  we 
might  form  a  mixed  constitution — Plebeians  and  Patricians, 
each  in  their  separate  order." 

"But,"  said  Montreal  gravely,  "so  new  an  experiment  woul' 
demand  great  physical  force." 

"Why,  true;  but  we  might  call  in  an  umpire — a  foreigner 
who  had  no  interest  in  either  faction  ;  who  might  protect  the 
new  Buono  Stato  ,•  a  Podesta,  as  we  have  done  before — Bran- 
:aleone,  for  instance.  How  well  and  wisely  he  ruled  !  that  was 
a  golden  age  for  Rome.     A  Podesta  forever  ! — that's  my  theory." 

"You  need  not  seek  far  for  the  president  of  your  council," 
said  Montreal,  smiling  at  Pandulfo  ;  "a  citizen  at  once  popu- 
lar, well-born,  and  wealthy,  may  be  found  at  my  right  hand." 

Pandulfo  hemmed  and  colored. 

Montreal  proceeded.  "A  committee  of  trades  might  fu^nis^, 
an  honorable  employment  to  Signor  Vivaldi ;  and  the  treat- 
ment of  all  foreign  affairs — the  employment  of  armies,  etc., 
might  be  left  to  the  barons,  with  a  more  open  competition, 
Signor  di  Bruttini,  to  the  barons  of  the  second  order  than  has 
hitherto  been  conceded  to  their  birth  and  importance.  Sirs, 
will  you  taste  the  Malvoisie  .•*" 

"Still,"  said  Vivaldi  after  a  pause — (Vivaldi  anticipated  at 
least  the  supplying  with  cloth  the  whole  of  the  Grand  Com- 
pany)— "  still,  such  a  moderate  and  well-digested  constitution 
would  never  be  acceded  to  by  Rienzi." 

"Why  should  it?  what  need  of  Rienzi?"  exclaimed  Brut- 
tini.    "Rienzi  may  take  another  trip  to  Bohemia." 

"Gently,  gently,"  said  Montreal;  "I  do  not  despair.  All 
open  violence  against  the  Senator  would  strengthen  his  power. 
No,  no,  humble  him ;  admit  the  barons,  and  then  insist  on 
your  own  terms.  Between  the  two  factions  you  might  then 
establish  a  fitting  balance.  And  in  order  to  keep  your  new 
constitution  from  the  encroachment  of  either  extreme,  there 
arg  warriors  and  knights,  too,  who  for  a  certain  rank  in  the 
great  city  of  Rome  would  maintain  horse  and  foot  at  its  ser- 
vice. We  Ultramontanes  are  often  harshly  judged  ;  we  are 
wanderers  and  Ishmaelites,  solely  because  we  have  no  honor- 
able place  of  rest.     Now,  if  / — " 

"Ay,  if  you,  noble  Montreal !"  said  Vivaldi. 

The  company  remained  hushed  in  breathless  attention,  when 
suddenly  there  was  heard — deep,  solemn,  muffled, — the  great 
bell  of  the  Capitol ! 

"  Hark  ! "  said  Vivaldi,  "the  bell :  it  tolls  for  execution :  aa 
unwonted  hour  I " 


406  klENZl, 

"Sure,  the  Senator  has  not  returned  !"  exclaimed  Pandiilfo 
di  Guido,  turning  pale. 

"  No,  no,"  quoth  Bruttini,  "it  is  but  a  robber,  caught  two 
nights  ago  at  Romagna.     1  heard  that  he  was  to  die  to-night." 

"At  the   word    "robber"    Montreal    changed    countenance 
slightly.     The  wine  circulated — the  bell  continued  to  toll ;  it« 
suddenness  over,  it  ceased    to   alarm.     Conversation    How 
again. 

"What  were  you  saying,  Sir  Knight?"  said  Vivaldi. 

"Why,  let  me  think   on't ;  oh,  speaking  of  the  necessity  . 
supporting  a  new  State  by  force,  I  said  that  if  / — " 

"Ah,  that  was  it !"  quoth  Bruttini,  thumping  the  table. 

"If  /were  summoned  to  your  aid — summoned^  mind  ye,  and 
absolved  by  the  Pope's  Legate  of  my  former  sins — (they  weigh 
heavily  on  me,  gentles) — I  would  myself  guard  your  city  from 
foreign  foe  and  civil  disturbance  with  my  gallant  swordsmen. 
Not  a  Roman  citizen  should  contribute  a  'danaro*  to  the 
cost." 

^^  Viva  Fra  Moreale /**  cried  Bruttini;  and  the  shout  was 
echoed  by  all  the  boon  companions, 

"Enough  for  me,"  continued  Montreal,  "to  expiate  my 
offences.  Ye  know,  gentlemen,  my  order  is  vowed  to  God 
and  the  Church — a  warrior-monk  am  I !  Enough  for  me  to 
expiate  my  offences,  I  say,  in  the  defence  of  the  Holy  City. 
Yet  I,  too,  have  my  private  and  more  earthly  views, — who  is 
above  them  ?     I — the  bell  changes  its  note  !  " 

"  It  is  but  the  change  that  preludes  execution ;  the  poor 
robber  is  about  to  die  ! " 

Montreal  crossed  himself,  and  resumed:  "I  am  a  knight 
and  a  noble,"  said  he  proudly;  "the  profession  I  have  fol- 
lowed is  that  of  arms  ;  but — I  will  not  disguise  it — mine 
equals  have  regarded  me  as  one  who  has  stained  his  scutcheon 
by  too  reckless  a  pursuit  of  glory  and  of  gain.  I  wish  to  rec- 
oncile myself  with  my  order ;  to  purchase  a  new  name  ;  to 
vindicate  myself  to  the  Grand  Master  and  the  Pontiff.  I  have 
had  hints,  gentles, — hints  that  I  might  best  promote  my  interest 
by  restoring  order  to  the  Papal  metropolis.  The  Legate  Al- 
bornoz  (here  is  his  letter)  recommends  me  to  keep  watch  upon 
the  Senator." 

"Surely,"  interrupted  Pandulfo,  "I  hear  steps  below." 

"The  mob  going  to  the  robber's  execution,"  said  Bruttini; 
"proceed.  Sir  Knight  !" 

"And,"  continued  Montreal,  surveying  his  audience  before 
he  proceeded  farther,  "  what  think  ye-  -(I  do  but  ask  your 


THE   LAST   OF    THE   TRIBUNES.  4OI 

Opinion,  wiser  than  mine) — what  think  ye,  as  a  fitting  precau- 
tion against  too  arbitrary  a  power  in  the  Senator — what  think 
ye  of  the  return  of  the  Colonna,  and  the  bold  barons  of 
Palestrina?" 

"Here's  to  their  health  !"  cried  Vivaldi,  rising. 

As  by  a  sudden  impulse,  the  company  rose.  **To  the  health 
of  the  besieged  barons  ! "  was  shouted  aloud. 

"  Next,  what  if — (I  do  but  humbly  suggest) — what  if  you 
gave  the  Senator  a  colleague  ?  it  is  no  affront  to  him.  It  was 
but  as  yesterday  that  one  of  the  Colonna,  who  was  Senator, 
received  a  colleague  in  Bertoldo  Orsini." 

"A  most  wise  precaution,"  cried  Vivaldi.  "And  where  a 
colleague  like  Pandulfo  di  Guido.**" 

^^  Viva  Pandulfo  di  Guido  T'  cried  the  guests,  and  again 
their  goblets  were  drained  to  the  bottom. 

"And  if  in  this  I  can  assist  ye  by  fair  words  with  the  Sena- 
tor (ye  know  he  owes  me  moneys — my  brothers  have  served 
him),  command  Walter  de  Montreal." 

"And  if  fair  words  fail?"  said  Vivaldi. 

"The  Grand  Company — (heed  me, _y<f  are  the  counsellors) — 
the  Grand  Company  is  accustomed  to  forced  marches  ! " 

^^  Viva  Fra  Moreale  I"  cried  Bruttini  and  Vivaldi  simulta- 
neously. "A  health  to  all,  my  friends";  continued  Bruttini; 
"a  health  to  the  barons,  Rome's  old  friends  ;  to  Pandulfo  di 
Guido,  the  Senator's  new  colleague,  and  to  Fra  Moreale, 
Rome's  new  Podesta." 

"  The  bell  has  ceased,"  said  Vivaldi,  putting  down  his  goblet 

**  Heaven  have  mercy  on  the  robber  !  "  added  Bruttini. 

Scarce  had  he  spoken,  ere  three  taps  were  heard  at  the  door ; 
the  guests  looked  at  each  other  in  dumb  amaze. 

"  New  guests  ! "  said  Montreal.  "  I  asked  some  trusty 
friends  to  join  us  this  evening.  By  my  faith,  they  are  welcome  ; 
Enter  !  " 

The  door  opened  slowly ;  three  by  three  entered,  in  com- 
plete armor,  the  guards  of  the  Senator.  On  they  marched, 
regular  and  speechless.  They  surrounded  the  festive  board  ; 
they  filled  the  spacious  hall,  and  the  lights  of  the  banquet 
Urere  reflected  upon  their  corselets  as  on  a  wall  of  steel. 

Not  a  syllable  was  uttered  by  the  feasters  ;  they  were  as  if 
turned  to  stone.  Presently  the  guards  gave  way,  and  Ricnzi 
himself  appeared.  He  approached  the  table,  and  folding  his 
arms,  turned  his  gaze  deliberately  from  guest  to  guest,  till  at 
last  his  eyes  rested  on  Montreal,  who  had  also  risen,  and  who 
alone  of  the  party  had  recovered  the  amaze  of  the  moment. 


402  RIEN2I, 

And  there,  as  these  two  men,  each  so  celebrated,  so  proud, 
able,  and  ambitious,  stood,  front  to  front,  it  was  literally  as  i( 
the  rival  Spirits  of  Force  and  Intellect,  Order  and  Strife,  of 
the  Falchion  and  the  Fasces — the  Antagonist  Principles  by 
which  empires  are  ruled  and  empires  overthrown,  had  met  to- 
gether, incarnate  and  opposed.  They  stood,  both  silent,  as 
'if  fascinated  by  each  other's  gaze, — loftier  in  stature  and  no- 
Dler  in  presence  than  all  around. 

Montreal  spoke  first,  and  with  a  forced  smile. 

"  Senator  of  Rome  !  dare  I  believe  that  my  poor  banquet 
.empts  thee,  and  may  I  trust  that  these  armed  men  area  grace- 
ful compliment  to  one  to  whom  arms  have  been  a  pastime  ?" 

Rien/.i  answered  not,  but  waved  his  hands  to  his  guards. 
Montreal  was  seized  on  the  instant.  Again  he  surveyed  the 
guests  ;  as  a  bird  from  the  rattlesnake,  shrunk  Pandulfo  di 
Guido,  trembling,  motionless,  aghast,  from  the  glittering  eye  of 
the  Senator.  Slowly  Rienzi  raised  his  fatal  hand  towards  the 
unhappy  citizen  ;  Pandulfo  saw, — felt  his  doom, — shrieked, — 
and  fell  senseless  in  the  arms  of  the  soldiers. 

One  other  and  rapid  glance  cast  the  Senator  round  the 
\)oard,  and  then,  with  a  disdainful  smile,  as  if  anxious  for  no 
tneaner  prey,  turned  away.  Not  a  breath  had  hitherto  passed 
his  lips  ;  all  had  been  dumb  show  ;  and  his  grim  silence  had 
imparted  a  more  freezing  terror  to  his  unguessed-for  appari- 
tion. Only,  when  he  reached  the  door,  he  turned  back,  gazed 
upon  the  Knight  of  St.  John's  bold  and  undaunted  face,  and 
said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  Walter  de  Montreal !  you  heard 
the  death-knell ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   SENTENCE   OF    WALTER   DE    MONTREAL, 

iN  silence  the  Captain  of  the  Grand  Company  was  borne  to 
rhe  prison  of  the  Capitol.  In  the  same  building  lodged  the 
rivals  for  the  government  of  Rome  ;  the  one  occupied  the 
prison,  the  other  the  palace.  The  guards  forebore  the 
ceremony  of  fetters,  and  leaving  a  lamp  on  the  table,  Montreal 
perceived  he  was  not  alone, — his  brothers   had  preceded  him. 

*' Ye  are  happily  met,"  said  the  Knight  of  St.  John  ;"  we 
have  passed  together  pleasanter  nights  than  this  is  likely 
to  be." 

"Can    you    jest,  Walter?"  said  Arimbaldo,  half-weeping, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE   TRIBUNES.  403 

**Know    you   not    that   our   doom    is    fixed?     Death    scowls 
upon  us." 

"  Death  !  "  repeated  Montreal,  and  for  the  first  time  his 
countenance  changed  ;  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
felt  the  thrill  and  agony  of  fear. 

"  Death  !  "  he  repeated  again.     "  Impossible  !     He  dare  not, 
Brettone  ;  the  soldiers,  the  Northmen  !    they  will  mutiny,  they' 
will  pluck  us  back  from  the  grasp  of  the  headsman  I  " 

**  Cast  from  you  so  vain  a  hope,"  said  Brettone  sullenly ; 
"the  soldiers  are  encamped  at  Palestrina." 

''  How !  Dolt  !  Fool !  Came  you  then  to  Rome  alone! 
Are  we  alone  with  this  dread  man  ? " 

"  You  are  the  dolt  !  Why  came  you  hither?"  answered  the 
brother.  , 

"  Why,  indeed  !  but  that  I  knew  thou  wast  the  captain  of 
the  army  :  and — but  thou  saidst  right — the  folly  is  mine,  to 
have  played  against  the  crafty  Tribune  so  unequal  a  brain  as 
thine.  Enough  !  Reproaches  are  idle.  When  were  ye  ar- 
rested?" 

"At  dusk — the  instant  we  entered  the  gates  of  Rome. 
Rienzi  entered  privately." 

"  Humph  !  What  can  he  know  against  me  ?  Who  can  have 
betrayed  me  ?  My  secretaries  are  tried — all  trustworthy — ex- 
cept that  youth,  and  he  so  seemingly  zealous — that  Angeio 
Villani !  " 

"  Villani !  Angeio  Villani !  "  cried  the  brothers  in  a  breath. 
"Hast  thou  confided  aught  to  him  ?  " 

"Why,  I  fear  he  must  have  seen — at  least  in  part — my  cor- 
respondence with  you,  and  with  the  barons — he  was  among 
my  scribes.     Know  you  aught  of  him  ? " 

"Walter,  Heaven  hath  demented  you  !"  returned  Brettone. 
"Angeio  Villani  is  the  favorite  menial  of  the  Senator." 

"  Those  eyes  deceived  me,  then,"  muttered  Montreal,  sol- 
emnly and  shuddering ;  "and,  as  if  her  ghost  had  returned  to 
earth,  God  smites  me  from  the  grave  •  " 

There  was  0.  long  silence.  At  length  Montreal,  whose  bold 
and  sanguine  temper  was  never  long  clouded,  spoke  again. 

"  Are  the  Senator's  coffers  full  ?     But  that  is  impossible." 

"Bare  as  a  Dominican's." 

"We  are  saved,  then.  He  shall  name  his  price  for  our 
heads.     Money  must  be  more  useful  to  him  than  blood." 

And  as  if  with  that  thought  all  further  i?^editation  were  ren- 
dered unnecessary,  Montreal  doffed  his  mantle,  uttered  a  short 
prayeri  and  flung  himself  on  a  paikt  in  a  corner  of  the  c€U^ 


404  RIENZI, 

*'Ihave  slept  on  worse  beds,"  said  the  Knight,  stretching 
himself  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  fast  asleep. 

The  brothers  listened  to  his  deep-drawn  but  regular  breathing 
with  envy  and  wonder,  but  they  were  in  no  mood  to  converse. 
Still  and  speechless,  they  sate  like  statues  beside  the  sleeper. 
Time  passed  on,  and  the  first  cold  air  of  the  hour  that  succeeds 
to  midnight  crept  through  the  bars  of  their  cell.  The  bolts 
crashed,  the  door  opened,  six  men-at-arms  entered,  passed  thf 
brothers,  and  one  of  them  touched  Montreal. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  he,  still  sleeping,  but  turning  round.     "Ha  !' 
said  he  in  the  soft  Provengal  tongue,  "  sweet  Adeline,  we  wili 
not  rise  yet — it  is  so  long  since  we  met  !  " 

"  What  says  he  ?  "  muttered  the  guard,  shaking  Montreal 
roughly.  The  knight  sprang  up  at  once,  and  his  hand  grasped 
the  head  of  his  bed  as  for  his  sword.  He  stared  round  bewil- 
dered, rubbed  his  eyes,  and  then  gazing  on  the  guard,  became 
alive  to  the  present. 

"  Ye  are  early  risers  in  the  Capitol,"  said  he.  **  What  want  ye 
of  me?" 

"  //  waits  you  !  " 

"  //./     What  ?  "  said  Montreal. 

"The  rack  !  "  replied  the  soldier,  with  a  malignant  scowl. 

The  great  Captain  said  not  a  word.  He  looked  for  one 
moment  at  the  six  swordsmen,  as  if  measuring  his  single  strength 
against  theirs.  His  eye  then  wandered  round  the  room.  The 
rudest  bar  of  iron  would  have  been  dearer  to  him  than  he  had 
ever  yet  found  the  proofest  steel  of  Milan.  He  completed  his 
survey  with  a  sigh,  threw  his  mantle  over  his  shoulders,  nodded 
at  his  brethren,  and  followed  the  guard. 

In  a  hall  of  the  Capitol,  hung  with  the  ominous  silk  of  white 
rays  on  a  blood-red  ground,  sate  Rienzi  and  his  councillors. 
Across  a  recess  was  drawn  a  black  curtain. 

*'  Walter  de  Montreal,"  said  a  small  man  at  the  foot  of  the 
table,  "  Knight  of  the  illustrious  order  of  St.  John  of  Jeru- 
salem— " 

"  And  Captain  of  the  Grand  Company  ! "  added  the  prisoner, 
in  a  firm  voice. 

"  You  stand  accused  of  divers  counts  :  robbery  and  murder, 
in  Tuscany,  Romagna,  and  Apulia — " 

"  F'or  robbery  and  murder,  brave  men  and  belted  knights,'* 
said  Montreal  drawing  himself  up,  "  would  use  the  words  *  war 
and  victory.'     To  those  charges  I  plead  guilty  !     Proceed." 

"  You  are  next  accused  of  treasonable  conspiracy  against  the 
iib«rti«fi  of  Kome  Cor  the  restoration  of  the  proscribed  barons » , 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  40$ 

and  of  traitorous  correspondence  with  Stefanello  Colonna  at 
Palestrina." 

**  My  accuser  ?  " 

"  Step  forth,  Angelo  Villani  !  " 

"  You  are  my  betrayer,  then  ?  "  said  Montreal  steadily.  "  I 
deserved  this.  I  beseech  you,  Senator  of  Rome,  let  this  young 
man  retire.  I  confess  my  correspondence  with  the  Colonna, 
and  my  desire  to  restore  the  barons." 

Rienzi  motioned  to  Villani,  who  bowed  and  withdrew. 

"  There  rests  only  then  for  you,  Walter  de  Montreal,  to  relate 
fully  and  faithfully,  the  details  of  your  conspiracy." 

"  That  is  impossible,"  replied  Montreal  carelessly. 

*'  And  why  ?  " 

"  Because,  doing  as  I  please  with  my  own  life,  I  will  nc 
betray  the  lives  of  others." 

"  Bethink  thee — thou  wouldst  have  betrayed  the  life  of  thy 
judge  !  " 

"  Not  betrayed — thou  didst  not  trust  me.** 

"  The  law,  Walter  de  Montreal,  hath  sharp  inquisitors — 
behold  !  " 

The  black  curtain  was  drawn  aside,  and  the  eye  of  Montreal 
rested  on  the  executioner  and  the  rack !  His  proud  breast 
heaved  indignantly. 

"  Senator  of  Rome,"  said  he,  "  these  instruments  are  for  serfs 
and  villeins.  I  have  been  a  warrior  and  a  leader  ;  life  and 
death  have  been  in  my  hands- — I  have  used  them  as  I  listed  ; 
but  to  mine  equal  and  my  foe  I  never  proffered  the  insult  of 
the  rack." 

"Sir  Walter  de  Montreal,**  returned  the  Senator  gravely,  but 
with  some  courteous  respect,  "your  answer  is  that  which  rises 
naturally  to  the  lips  of  brave  men.  But  learn  from  me,  whom 
fortune  hath  made  thy  judge,  that  no  more  for  serf  and  villein 
than  for  knight  and  noble  are  such  instruments  the  engines  of 
law,  or  the  tests  of  truth.  I  yielded  but  to  the  desire  of  these 
reverend  councillors  to  test  thy  nerves.  But,  wert  thou  the 
meanest  peasant  of  the  Campagna,  before  my  judgment-seat 
thou  needst  not  apprehend  the  torture.  Walter  ie  Montreal, 
amongst  the  princes  of  Italy  thou  hast  known,  amongst  the 
Roman  barons  thou  wouldst  have  aided,  is  there  one  who  could 
make  that  boast  ?  " 

"  I  desired  only,"  said  Montreal,  with  some  hesitation,  **  to 
unite  the  barons  with  thee  ;  nor  did  I  intrigue  against  thy 
Ufer' 

Rienzi  frowned.     *^  Enough,"  he  said  hastily.     "  Knight  of 


4o6  RIENZI, 

St.  John,  I  know  thy  secret  projects ;  subterfuge  and  evasion 
neither  befit  nor  avail  thee.  If  thou  didst  not  intrigue  against 
my  life,  thou  didst  intrigue  against  the  life  of  Rome.  Thou 
has  but  one  favor  left  to  demand  on  earth,  it  is  the  manner  of 
thy  death." 

Montreal's  lip  worked  convulsively. 

"  Senator,"  said  he  in  low  voice,  "  may  I  crave  audience  with 
thee  a/o/ie  for  one  minute  ? " 

The  councillors  looked  up. 

"  My  lord,"  whispered  the  eldest  of  them,  "  doubtless  he  hath 
concealed  weapons — trust  him  not." 

"Prisoner,"  returned  Rienzi,  after  a  moment's  pause ;  "if 
thou  seekest  for  mercy,  thy  request  is  idle,  and  before  my  coad- 
jutors I  have  no  secret  ;   speak  out  what  thou  hast  to  say  !  " 

"  Yet  listen  to  me,"  said  the  prisoner,  folding  his  arms  ;  "  it 
concerns  not  my  life,  but  Rome's  welfare." 

"  Then,"  said  Rienzi,  in  an  altered  tone,''thy  request  is  granted. 
Thou  mayst  add  to  thy  guilt  the  design  of  the  assassin,  but  for 
Rome  I  would  dare  greater  danger." 

So  saying,  he  motioned  to  the  councillors,  who  slowly  with- 
drew by  the  door  which  had  admitted  Villani,  while  the  guards 
retired  to  the  farthest  extremity  of  the  hall. 

**Now,  Walter  de  Montreal,  be  brief,  for  thy  time  is  short." 

"  Senator,"  said  Montreal,  "  my  life  can  but  little  profit  you  ; 
men  will  say  that  you  destroy  your  creditor  in  order  to  cancel 
your  debt.  Fix  a  sum  upon  my  life,  estimate  it  at  the  price  of 
a  monarch's  ;  every  florin  shall  be  paid  to  you,  and  your 
treasury  will  be  filled  for  five  years  to  come.  If  the  *"  Buono 
Stato '  depends  on  your  government,  what  I  have  asked  your 
solicitude  for  Rome  will  not  permit  you  to  refuse." 

"  You  mistake  me,  bold  robber,"  said  Rienzi  sternly  ;  "  your 
treason  I  could  guard  against,  and  therefore  forgive  ;  your  a7nbi' 
tion,  never  !  Mark  me,  I  know  you  !  Place  your  hand  on  your 
heart  and  say  whether,  could  we  change  places,  you,  as  Rienzi, 
would  suffer  all  the  gold  of  earth  to  purchase  the  life  of  Walter 
de  Montreal?  For  men's  reading  of  my  conduct,  that  must  I 
bear  ;  for  mine  own  reading,  mine  eyes  must  be  purged  from 
corruption.  I  am  answerable  to  God  for  the  trust  of  Rome, 
And  Rome  trembles  while  the  head  of  the  Grand  Company 
lives  in  the  plotting  brain  and  the  daring  heart  of  Walter  de 
Montreal.  Man — wealthy,  great,  and  subtle  as  you  are,  your 
hours  are  numbered  ;  with  the  rise  of  the  sun  you  die  ! " 

Montreal's  eyes,  fixed  upon  the  Senator's  face,  saw  hope  wa3 
over ;  his  pride  and  his  fortitude  returned  to  hiio 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  407 

"We  have  wasted  words,"  said  he.  **I  played  for  a  great 
stake,  I  have  lost,  and  must  pay  the  forfeit  !  I  am  prepared. 
On  the  threshold  of  the  Unknown  World  the  dark  spirit  of 
prophecy  rushes  into  us.  Lord  Senator,  I  go  before  thee  to 
announce,  that  in  Heaven  or  in  Hell,  ere  many  days  be  over, 
room  must  be  given  to  one  mightier  than  I  am  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  his  form  dilated,  his  eye  glared  ;  and  Rienzi, 
cowering  as  never  had  he  cowered  before,  shrunk  back,  and 
shaded  his  face  with  his  hand. 

*'  The  manner  of  your  death  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"The  axe:  it  is  that  which  befits  knight  and  warrior.  Foi 
thee,  Senator,  Fate  hath  a  less  noble  death." 

"Robber,  be  dumb  !  "  cried  Rienzi  passionately;  "Guards, 
bear  back  the  prisoner.     At  sunrise,  Montreal — " 

"  Sets  the  sun  of  the  scourge  of  Italy,"  said  the  knight  bit- 
terly. "Be  it  so.  One  request  more  ;  the  Knights  of  St.  John 
claim  affinity  with  the  Augustine  order  ;  grant  me  an  Augus- 
tine confessor." 

"  It  is  granted  ;  and  in  return  for  thy  denunciations,  I,  who 
can  give  thee  no  earthly  mercy,  will  implore  the  Judge  of  all 
for  pardon  to  thy  soul." 

"Senator,  I  have  done  with  man's  mediation.  My  brethren  ? 
Their  deaths  are  not  necessary  to  thy  safety  or  thy  revenge  !  " 

Rienzi  mused  a  moment :  "  No,"  said  he,  "  dangerous  tools 
they  were,  but  without  the  workman  they  may  rust  unharming. 
They  served  me  once,  too.     Prisoner,  their  lives  are  spared." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    DISCOVERY. 

The  Council  was  broken  up — Rienzi  hastened  to  his  own 
apartments.  Meeting  Villani  by  the  way,  he  pressed  the 
youth's  hand  affectionately.  "  You  have  saved  Rome  and  me 
from  great  peril,"  said  he  ;  "  the  saints  reward  you  !  "  With- 
out tarrying  for  Villani's  answer,  he  hurried  on.  Nina,  anxious 
and  perturbed,  awaited  him  in  their  chamber. 

"Not  a-bed  yet  ?  "  said  he  :  "  fie,  Nina,  even  thy  beauty  will 
not  stand  these  vigils." 

"  I  could  not  rest  till  I  had  seen  thee.  I  hear  (all  Rome  has 
heard  it  ere  this)  that  thou  hast  seized  Walter  de  Montreal,  and 
that  he  will  perish  by  the  beadsman," 


4o8  RIENZT, 

**  The  first  robber  that  ever  died  so  brave  a  death,"  returned 
Rienzi,  slowly  unrobing  himself. 

**  Cola,  I  have  never  crossed  your  schemes,  your  policy,  even 
by  a  suggestion.  Enough  for  me  to  triumph  in  their  success, 
to  mourn  for  their  failure.  Now  I  ask  thee  one  request — spare 
me  the  life  of  this  man." 

"Nina—" 

"  Hear  me, — for  thee  I  speak  !  Despite  his  crimes,  his  valor 
and  his  genius  have  gained  him  admirers,  even  amongst  his 
foes.  Many  a  prince,  many  a  State  that  secretly  rejoices  at 
his  fall,  will  affect  horror  against  his  judge.  Hear  me  farther : 
his  brothers  aided  your  return  ;  the  world  will  term  you  un- 
grateful. His  brothers  lent  you  moneys,  the  world — (out  on 
it  !) — will  term  you — " 

*'  Hold  I  "  interrupted  the  Senator.  "  All  that  thou  sayest 
my  mind  forestalled.  But  thou  knowest  me  ;  to  thee  I  have 
no  disguise.  No  compact  can  bind  Montreal's  faith,  no  mercy 
win  his  gratitude.  Before  his  red  right  hand  truth  and  jus- 
tice are  swept  away.  If  I  condemn  Montreal  I  incur  disgrace 
and  risk  danger — granted.  If  I  release  him,  ere  the  first 
showers  of  April,  the  chargers  of  the  Northmen  will  neigh  in 
the  halls  of  the  Capitol.  Which  shall  I  hazard  in  this  alterna- 
tive, myself  or  Rome  ?     Ask  me  no  more — to  bed,  to  bed  !  " 

"  Couldst  thou  read  my  forebodings.  Cola,  mystic — gloomy- 
unaccountable  ?" 

"Forebodings  !  I  have  mine,"  answered  Rienzi  sadly,  gaz- 
ing on  space,  as  if  his  thoughts  peopled  it  with  spectres. 
Then,  raising  his  eyes  to  Heaven,  he  said  with  that  fanatical 
energy  which  made  much  both  of  his  strength  and  weakness  ; 
**  Lord,  mine  at  least  not  the  sin  of  Saul  !  the  Amalekite  shall 
not  be  saved  !  " 

While  Rienzi  enjoyed  a  short,  troubled,  and  restless  sleep, 
over  which  Nina  watched — unslumbering,  anxious,  tearful,  and 
oppressed  with  dark  and  terrible  forewarnings — the  accuser  was 
more  happy  than  the  judge.  The  last  thoughts  that  floated 
before  the  young  mind  of  Angelo  Villani,  ere  wrapped  in  sleep, 
were  bright  and  sanguine.  He  felt  no  honorable  remorse  that 
ho  had  entrapped  the  confidence  of  another  ;  he  felt  only  that 
his  scheme  had  prospered,  that  his  mission  had  been  fulfilled. 
The  grateful  words  of  Rienzi  rang  in  his  ear,  and  hopes  of 
fortune  and  power,  beneath  the  sway  of  the  Roman  Senator, 
lulled  him  into  slumber,  and  colored  all  his  dreams. 

Scarce,  however,  had  he  been  two  hours  asleep,  ere  he  was 
wakened  by  one  of  the  attendants  of  the  palace,  himself  h^lf 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  409 

awake.  "  Pardon  me,  Messere  Villani,"  said  he,  "but  there  is 
a  messenger  below  from  the  good  Sister  Ursula  ;  he  bids  thee 
haste  instantly  to  the  Convent ;  she  is  sick  unto  death,  and  has 
tidings  that  crave  thy  immediate  presence," 

Angelo,  whose  morbid  susceptibility  as  to  his  parentage  was 
ever  excited  by  vague  but  ambitious  hopes,  started  up,  dressed 
hurriedly,  and  joining  the  messenger  below,  repaired  to  the 
Convent.  In  the  Court  of  the  Capitol,  and  by  the  Staircase  of 
the  Lion,  was  already  heard  the  noise  of  the  workmen,  and 
looking  back,  Villani  beheld  the  scaffold,  hung  with  black — 
sleeping  cloudlike  in  the  gray  light  of  dawn — at  the  same  time, 
the  bell  of  the  Capitol  tolled  heavily.  A  pang  shot  athwart 
him.  He  hurried  on  ;  despite  the  immature  earliness  of  the 
hour,  he  met  groups  of  either  sex,  hastening  along  the  streets 
to  witness  the  execution  of  the  redoubted  Captain  of  the  Grand 
Company.  The  Convent  of  the  Augustines  was  at  the  farthest 
extremity  of  that  city,  even  then  so  extensive,  and  the  red 
light  upon  the  hill-tops  already  heralded  the  rising  sun,  ere 
the  young  man  reached  the  venerable  porch.  His  name  ob- 
tained him  instant  admittance. 

"  Heaven  grant,"  said  an  old  nun,  who  conducted  him 
through  a  long  and  winding  passage,  "  that  thou  mayst  bring 
comfort  to  the  sick  sister.  She  has  pined  for  thee  grievously 
since  matins." 

In  a  cell  set  apart  for  the  reception  of  visitors  (from  the 
outward  world),  to  such  of  the  Sisterhood  as  received  the  nec- 
essary dispensation,  sate  the  aged  nun.  Angelo  had  only  seen 
her  once  since  his  return  to  Rome,  and  since  then  disease  had 
made  rapid  havoc  on  her  form  and  features.  And  now,  in  her 
shroudlike  garments  and  attenuated  frame,  she  seemed  by  the 
morning  light  as  a  spectre  whom  day  had  surprised  above  the 
earth.  She  approached  the  youth,  however,  with  a  motion 
?Tiore  elastic  and  rapid  than  seemed  possible  to  her  worn  and 
ghastly  form.  ''  Thou  art  come,"  she  said.  *'  Well,  well ! 
This  morning  after  matins,  my  confessor,  an  Augustine,  who 
alone  knows  the  secrets  of  my  life,  took  me  aside,  and  told  me 
that  Walter  de  Montreal  had  been  seized  by  the  Senator  ;  that 
he  was  adjudged  to  die,  and  that  one  of  the  Augustine  broth- 
erhood had  been  sent  for  to  attend  his  last  hours — is  it  so?  " 

"  Thou  v/crt  told  aright,"  said  Angelo  wonderingly.  "  The 
man  at  whose  name  thou  '\7crt  wont  to  shudder  ;  against  whom 
thou  hast  so  often  warned  mc ;  will  die  at  sunrise." 

"  So  soon  !  so  soon  !  Oh,  Mother  of  Mercy  !  fly !  thou  art 
about  the  person  of  the  Senator  ;  thou  hast  high  favor  with 


^lO  RIENZI, 

him  ;  fly  !  down  on  thy  knees,  and  as  thou  hopest  for  God's 
grace,  rise  not  till  thou  hast  won  the  Provencal's  life." 

'*  She  raves,"  muttered  Angelo,  with  white  lips. 

"  I  do  7wt  rave,  boy  I  "  screeched  the  Sister  wildly,  "  know 
that  my  daughter  was  his  leman.  He  disgraced  our  house — a 
house  haughtier  than  his  own.  Sinner  that  I  was,  I  vowed  re- 
venge. His  boy — they  had  only  one  !  — was  brought  up  in  a 
robber's  camp  ;  a  life  of  bloodshed — a  death  of  doom — h. 
futurity  of  hell — were  before  him.  I  plucked  the  child  from 
such  a  fate  ;  I  bore  him  away  ;  I  told  the  father  he  was  dead  ; 
I  placed  him  in  the  path  to  honorable  fortunes.  May  my  sin 
be  forgiven  me  !  Angelo  Villani,  thou  art  that  child  ;  Walter 
de  Montreal  is  thy  father.  But  now,  trembling  on  the  verge 
of  death,  I  shudder  at  the  vindictive  thoughts  I  once  nour- 
ished.    Perhaps — " 

*'  Sinner  and  accursed  !  "  interrupted  Villani,  with  a  loud 
shout;  "sinner  and  accursed  thou  art  indeed  !  Know  that  it 
was  /  who  betrayed  thy  daughter's  lover  !  By  the  son's  trea- 
son dies  the  father  !  " 

Not  a  moment  more  did  he  tarry ;  he  waited  not  to  witness 
the  effect  his  words  produced.  As  one  frantic — as  one  whom 
a  fiend  possesses  or  pursues — he  rushed  from  the  convent,  he 
flew  through  the  desolate  streets.  The  death-bell  came — first 
indistinct,  then  loud  upon  his  ear.  Every  sound  seemed  to 
him  like  the  curse  of  God  ;  on — on — he  passed  the  more  de- 
serted quarter — crowds  swept  before  him — he  was  mingled  with 
the  living  stream,  delayed,  pushed  back — thousands  on  thou- 
sands around,  before  him.  Breathless,  gasping,  he  still  pressed 
on — he  forced  his  way — he  heard  not — he  saw  not — all  was  like 
a  dream.  Up  burst  the  sun  over  the  distant  hills  !  The  bell 
ceased  !  From  right  to  left  he  pushed  aside  the  crowd — his 
strength  was  as  a  giant's.  He  neared  the  fatal  spot.  A  dead 
hush  lay  like  a  heavy  air  over  the  multitude.  He  heard  a 
voice  as  he  pressed  along,  deep  and  clear  ;  it  was  the  voice  of 
his  father  !  It  ceased — the  audience  breathed  heavily — they 
murmured — they  swayed  to  and  fro.  On,  on,  went  Angelo 
Villani.  The  guards  of  the  Senator  stopped  his  way ;  he 
dashed  aside  their  pikes — he  eluded  their  grasp— he  pierced 
the  armed  barrier — he  stood  on  the  Place  of  the  Capitol. 
"Hold,  hold  !  "  he  would  have  cried,  but  horror  struck  him 
dumb.  He  beheld  the  gleaming  axe,  he  saw  the  bended  neck. 
Ere  another  breath  passed  his  lips,  a  ghastly  and  trunkless 
face  was  raised  on  high — Walter  de  Montreal  was  no  more! 

Villani  saw — swooned  not — shrunk  not — breathed  not  J  but 


THE   LAST  OF  THE   TRIBUNES.  4II 

he  turned  his  eyes  from  that  lifted  head,  dropping  gore,  to  the 
balcony,  in  which,  according  to  custom,  sate,  in  solemn  pomj), 
the  Senator  of  Rome — and  the  face  of  that  young  man  was  as 
the  face  of  a  demon  ! 

"  Ha  !  "  said  he,  muttering  to  himself,  and  recalling  the 
words  of  Rienzi  seven  years  before;  ''^  Blessed  art  thou  who 
hast  no  blood  of  kindred  to  avenge  !  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  SUSPENSE. 

Walter  de  Montreal  was  buried  in  the  Church  of  St. 
Maria  dell' Aracelli.  But  the  "evil  that  he  did  lived  after 
him  !  "  Although  the  vulgar  had,  until  his  apprehension,  mur- 
mured against  Rienzi  for  allowing  so  notorious  a  freebooter  to  be 
at  large,  he  was  scarcely  dead  ere  they  compassionated  the 
object  of  their  terror.  With  that  singular  species  of  piety 
which  Montreal  had  always  cultivated,  as  if  a  decorous  and 
natural  part  of  the  character  of  a  warrior,  no  sooner  was  his 
sentence  fixed  than  he  had  surrendered  himself  to  the  devout 
preparation  for  death.  With  the  Augustine  friar  he  consumed 
the  brief  remainder  of  the  night  in  prayer  and  confession,  com- 
forted his  brothers,  and  passed  to  the  scaffold  with  the  step  of 
a  hero  and  the  self-acquittal  of  a  martyr.  In  the  wonderful  de- 
lusions of  the  human  heart,  far  from  feeling  remorse  at  a  life  of 
professional  rapine  and  slaughter,  almost  the  last  words  of  the 
brave  warrior  were  in  proud  commendation  of  his  own  deeds. 
**Be  valiant  like  me,"  he  said  to  his  brothers,  "and  remember 
liatye  are  now  the  heirs  to  the  Humbler  of  Apulia,  Tuscany, 
and  La  Marca."* 

This  confidence  in  himself  ^continued  at  the  scaffold.  "I 
die,"  he  said,  addressing  the  Romans,  "  I  die  contented,  since 
my  bones  shall  rest  in  the  Holy  City  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul, 
and  the  Soldier  of  Christ  shall  have  the  burial-place  of  the 
Apostles.  But  I  die  unjustly.  My  wealth  is  my  crime  ;  the 
poverty  of  your  State  my  accuser.  Senator  of  Rome,  tliou 
mayst  envy  my  last  hour — men  like  Walter  de  Montreal  perish 

*"  Pregovi  che  vi  amiate  e  siate  valorosi  al  mondo,  come  fui  io,  che  mi  feci  fare  obbedienza 
a  la  Puglia,  Toscana,  e  a  La  Marca." — Vit.  di  Cola  di  Rienzi,  lib.  ii..  cap.  22. 

°'  I  pray  you  love  one  another,  and  be  valorous  as  ^  r.-,  I,  who  made  Apulia,  Tuscany^ 
aud  La  Marca  own  obedience  to  me."— Z,7y>  0/  Cola  di  Rienzi. 


41 2  ftlENZtj 

not  unavenged."  So  saying,  he  turned  to  the  East,  murmured 
a  brief  prayer,  knelt  down  deliberately,  and  said  as  to  himself, 
"  Rome  guard  my  ashes  ! — Earth  my  memory — Fate  my  re- 
venge : — and,  now,  Heaven  receive  my  soul  !  Strike  !  "  At 
the  first  blow  the  head  was  severed  from  the  body. 

His  treason  but  imperfectly  known,  the  fear  of  him  forgot- 
ten, all  that  remained  of  the  recollection  of  Walter  de  Montreal  * 
in  Rome  was  admiration  for  his  heroism,  and  compassion  for 
his  end.  The  fate  of  Pandulfo  di  Guido,  which  followed  some 
days  afterwards,  excited  a  yet  deeper,  though  more  quiet,  sen- 
timent against  the  Senator.  "He  was  once  Rienzi's  friend  !  " 
said  one  man  ;  "  He  was  an  honest,  upright  citizen  !  "  mut- 
tered another  ;  "He  was  an  advocate  of  the  people  !  "  growled 
Cecco  del  Vecchio.  But  the  Senator  had  wound  himself  up  to 
a  resolve  to  be  inflexibly  just,  and  to  regard  every  peril  to  Rome 
as  became  a  Roman.  Rienzi  remembered  that  he  had  never 
confided  but  he  had  been  betrayed  ;  he  had  never  forgiven  but 
to  sharpen  enmity.  He  was  amidst  a  ferocious  people,  uncertain 
friends,  wily  enemies  ;  and  misplaced  mercy  would  be  but  a 
premium  to  conspiracy.  Yet  the  struggle  he  underwent  was 
visible  in  the  hysterical  emotions  he  betrayed.  He  now  wept 
bitterly,  now  laughed  wildly.  *'  Can  I  never  again  have  the 
luxury  to  forgive  ?  "  said  he.  The  coarse  spectators  of  that 
passion  deemed  it — some  imbecility,  some  hypocrisy.  But  the 
execution  produced  the  momentary  effect  intended.  All  sedi- 
tion ceased,  terror  crept  throughout  the  city,  order  and  peace 
rose  to  the  surface;  but  beneath,  in  the  strong  expression  of  a  con- 
temporaneous writer,  "Lo  mormorito  quetamente  suonava."  f 

On  examining  dispassionately  the  conduct  of  Rienzi  at  this 
awful  period  of  his  life,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  condemn  it  of 
a  single  error  in  point  of  policy.  Cured  of  his  faults,  he  ex- 
hibited no  unnecessary  ostentation,  he  indulged  in  no  exhibi- 
tions of  intoxicated  pride  ;  that  gorgeous  imagination,  rather 
than  vanity,  which  had  led  the  Tribune  into  spectacle  and 
pomp,  was  now  lulled  to  rest  by  the  sober  memory  of  grave 
vicissitudes,  and  the  stern  calmness  of  a  maturer  intellect. 
Frugal,  provident,  watchful,  self-collected,  "  never  was  seen," 
observes  no  partial  witness,  "  so  extraordinary  a  man."  J     "  In 

♦The  military  renown  and  bold  exploits  of  Montreal  are  acknowledged  by  all  the  Italian 
authorities.  One  of  them  declares  that  since  the  time  of  Caesar,  Italy  had  never  known  so 
great  a  captain.  The  biographer  of  Rienzi,  forgetting  all  the  offences  of  the  splendid  and 
Knightly  robber,  seems  to  fe»l  only  commiseration  for  his  fate.  He  informs  us,  moreover, 
that  at  Tivoli  one  of  his  servants  (perhaps  our  friend,  Kodolf  of  Saxony),  hearinf;  his 
death,  died  of  grief  the  following  day. 

t"  The  murmur  quietly  sounded." 

:(  Vit.  di  Cola  di  Rienzi,  lib.  ii.,  c.  23, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  413 

him  was  concentrated  every  thought  for  every  want  of  Rome. 
Indefatigably  occupied,  he  inspected,  ordained,  regulated  all 
things  ;  in  the  city,  in  the  army,  for  peace,  or  for  war.  But  he 
was  feebly  supported,  and  those  he  employed  were  lukewarm 
and  lethargic.  Still  his  arms  prospered.  Place  after  place, 
fortress  after  fortress,  yielded  to  the  lieutenant  of  the  Senator  ; 
and  the  cession  of  Palestrina  itself  was  hourly  expected.  His 
art  and  address  were  always  strikingly  exhibited  in  difficult 
situations,  and  the  reader  cannot  fail  to  have  noticed  how  con- 
spicuously they  were  displayed  in  delivering  himself  from  the 
iron  tutelage  of  his  foreign  mercenaries.  Montreal  executed, 
his  brothers  imprisoned  (though  their  lives  were  spared),  a 
fear  that  induced  respect  was  stricken  into  the  breasts  of  those 
bandit  soldiers.  Removed  from  Rome,  and,  under  Annibaldi, 
engaged  against  the  barons,  constant  action  and  constant  suc- 
cess withheld  those  necessary  fiends  from  falling  on  their 
Master;  v/hile  Rienzi,  willing  to  yield  to  the  natural  antipathy 
of  the  Romans,  thus  kept  the  Northmen  from  all  contact  with 
the  city  ;  and,  as  he  boasted,  was  the  only  chief  in  Italy  who 
reigned  in  his  palace  guarded  only  by  his  citizens. 

Despite  his  perilous  situation — despite  his  suspicions  and 
his  fears,  no  wanton  cruelty  stained  his  stern  justice.  Montreal 
and  Pandulfo  di  Guido  were  the  only  state  victims  he  de- 
manded. If,  according  to  the  dark  Machiavelism  of  Italian 
wisdom,  the  death  of  those  enemies  was  impolitic,  it  was  not  in 
the  act,  but  the  mode  of  doing  it.  A  prince  of  Bologna,  or  of 
Milc.n,  would  have  avoided  the  sympathy  excited  by  the  scaf- 
lold,  and  the  drug  or  the  dagger  would  have  been  the  safer 
substitute  for  the  axe.  But  with  all  his  faults,  real  and  im- 
puted, no  single  act  of  that  foul  and  murderous  policy,  which 
:  lade  the  science  of  the  more  fortunate  princes  of  Italy,  ever 
advanced  the  ambition  or  promoted  the  security  of  the  Last  of 
the  Roman  Tribunes.  Whatever  his  errors,  he  lived  and  died 
as  became  a  man,  who  dreamed  the  vain  but  glorious  dream 
that  in  a  corrupt  and  dastard  populace  he  could  revive  the 
jenius  of  the  old  Republic. 

Of  all  who  attended  on  the  Senator,  the  most  assiduous  and 
the  most  honored  was  still  Angelo  Villani.  Promoted  to  a 
high  civil  station,  Rienzi  felt  it  as  a  return  of  youth  to  find 
one  person  entitled  to  his  gratitude  ;  he  loved  and  confided  in 
the  youth  as  a  son.  Villani  was  nev^r  absent  from  his  side, 
except  in  intercourse  with  the  Various  popular  leaders  in  the 
vartoUf?  quarters  of  the  city  ;  nticl  in  this  intercourse  his  zeal 
Wmi  indefatigable— Ht  letmed  even  to  prey  upon  his  healthy 


414 


RIENZI. 


and  Rienzi  chid  him  fondly,  whenever,  starting  from  his  own 
reveries,  he  beheld  the  abstracted  eye  and  the  livid  paleness 
which  had  succeeded  thf^  sparkle  and  bloom  of  youth. 

Such  chiding  the  young  man  answered  only  by  the  same 
unvarying  words  : 

"  Senator,  I  have  a  great  trust  to  fulfil  ";  and  at  these  words 
he  smiled. 

One  day  Villani,  while  with  the  Senator,  said  rather  abruptly. 
*'  Do  you  remember,  my  lord,  that  before  Viterbo  I  acquitted 
myself  so  in  arms  that  even  the  Cardinal  d'Albornoz  was 
pleased  to  notice  me  ?" 

"I  remember  your  valor  well,  Angelo  ;  but  why  the  question  ?" 

"  My  lord,  Bellini,  the  <^aptain  of  the  Guard  of  the  Capitol, 
is  dangerously  ill." 

"  I  know  it." 

"Whom  can  my  lord  trust  at  the  post?" 

*'  Why,  the  lieutenant." 

"  What !  a  soldier  that  has  served  under  the  Orsini !  " 

"True.     Well  !  there  is  Tommaso  Filangieri." 

"An  excellent  man ;  but  is  he  not  kin  by  blood  to  Pandulfo 
diGuido?" 

"  Ah — is  he  so  ?  It  must  be  thought  of.  Hast  thou  any 
friend  to  name? "said  the  Senator,  smiling.  "  Methinks  thy 
cavils  point  that  way." 

"  My  lord,"  replied  Villani,  coloring ;  '*  I  am  too  young,  per- 
haps ;  but  the  post  \z  one  that  demands  fidelity  more  than  it 
does  years.  Shall  I  own  it  ?  My  tastes  are  rather  to  serve 
thee  with  my  sword  than  with  my  pen." 

"Wilt  thou,  indeec'p  accept  the  office  ?  It  is  of  less  dignity 
and  emolument  than  the  one  you  hold  ;  and  you  are  full  young 
to  lead  these  stubborn  spirits." 

"  Senator,  I  led  taller  men  than  they  are  to  the  assault  at 
Viterbo.  But  be  it  zz  neems  best  to  your  superior  wisdom. 
Whatever  you  do,  i  pray  you  to  be  cautious.  If  you  select  a 
traitor  to  the  command  of  the  Capitol  Guard  ! — I  tremble  at 
the  thought ! " 

"By  my  faith,  thou  dost  turn  pale  at  it,  dear  boy  ;  thy  affec- 
tion is  a  sweet  drop  in  a  bitter  draught.  Whom  can  I  choose 
better  than  thee?  Thou  shalt  have  the  post,  at  least  during 
Bellini's  illness.  I  will  attend  to  it  to-day.  The  business,  too, 
will  less  fatigue  thy  young  mind  than  that  which  now  employs 
thee.     Thou  art  over-labored  in  our  cause." 

••  Senator,  I  can  <^«t  repeat  my  usual  answer— 4  have  a  great 
trusuo  fulfil  r* 


THE   LAST    or   TH£   TRIBUNES^  41$ 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    TAX. 

These  formidable  conspiracies  quelled,  the  jr.i'onc  nearly 
subdued,  and  three  parts  of  the  Papal  territory  'jcunited  to 
Rome,  Rienzi  now  deemed  he  might  safely  execute  one  of  his 
favorite  projects  for  the  preservation  of  the  liberties  of  his  na- 
tive city  ;  and  this  was  to  raise  and  organize  in  each  quarter  of 
Rome  a  Roman  Legion.  Armed  in  the  defence  of  their  own 
institutions,  he  thus  trusted  to  establish  amongst  her  own  citi- 
zens the  only  soldiery  requisite  for  Rome. 

But  so  base  were  the  tools  with  which  this  great  man  was 
condemned  to  work  out  his  noble  schemes,  that  none  could  be 
found  to  serve  their  own  country,  without  a  pay  equal  to  that 
demanded  by  foreign  hirelings.  With  the  insolence  so  peculiar 
to  a  race  that  has  once  been  great,  each  Roman  said,  "  Am  I 
not  better  than  a  German  ?     Pay  me,  then,  accordingly." 

The  Senator  smothered  his  disgust  ;  he  had  learned  at  last 
to  know  that  the  age  of  the  Catos  was  no  more.  From  a  daring 
enthusiast,  experience  had  converted  him  into  a  practical 
statesman.  The  Legions  were  necessary  to  Rome  ;  they  were 
formed  ;  gallant  their  appearance  and  faultless  their  capari- 
sons. How  were  they  to  be  paid  ?  There  was  but  one  means 
to  maintain  Rome — Rome  must  be  taxed.  A  gabelle  was  put 
upon  wine  and  salt. 

The  proclamation  ran  thus : 

"Romans!  raised  to  the  rank  of  your  Senator,  my  whole 
thought  has  been  for  your  liberties  and  welfare  ;  already  trea- 
son defeated  in  the  City,  our  banners  triumphant  without, 
attest  the  favor  \7ith  v/hich  Ihc  Deity  regards  men  who  seek  to 
unite  liberty  with  law.  Let  us  set  an  example  to  Italy  and  the 
World  !  Let  us  prove  that  the  Roman  sword  can  guard  the 
Roman  Forum  !  In  each  Rione  of  the  City  is  provided  a 
Legion  of  the  Citizens,  collected  from  the  traders  and  artisans 
of  the  town  ;  they  allege  that  they  cannot  leave  their  callings 
without  remuneration.  Your  Senator  calls  upon  you  willingly 
to  assist  in  your  own  defence.  He  has  given  you  liberty  ;  he 
has  restored  to  you  peace  ;  your  oppressors  are  scattered  over 
the  earth.  He  asks  you  now  to  preserve  the  treasures  you 
have  gained.  To  be  free,  you  must  sacrifice  something  for 
frccJcm ;  v/hat  sacrifice  too  great  ?  Confident  of  your  sup- 
port,  I    at    length,   for  the   first    time,   exert  the  right    en« 


416  klENZI, 

trusted  to  me  by  office — and  for  Rome's  salvation  I  tax  the 
Romans  !  " 

Then  followed  the  announcement  of  the  gabelle. 

The  proclamation  was  set  up  in  the  public  thoroughfares. 
Round  one  of  the  placards  a  crowd  assembled.  Their  gestures 
were  vehement  and  unguarded  ;  their  eyes  sparkled  ;  they  con- 
versed low,  but  eagerly. 

"  He  dares  to  tax  us,  then  !  Why,  the  barons  or  the  Pope 
could  not  do  more  than  that  !  " 

"Shame  !  shame  !  "  cried  a  gaunt  female  ;  "we,  who  were 
his  friends  !     How  are  our  little  ones  to  get  bread  ?  " 

"  He  should  have  seized  the  Pope's  money !  "  quoth  an 
honest  winevender. 

"  Ah  !  Pandulfo  di  Guido  would  have  maintained  an  army 
at  his  own  cost.  He  was  a  rich  man.  What  insolence  in  the 
innkeeper's  son  to  be  a  Senator  !  " 

"  We  are  not  Romans  if  we  suffer  this ! "  said  a  deserter 
from  Palestrina. 

**  Fellow-citizens  !  "  exclaimed  gruffly  a  tall  man,  who  had 
hitherto  been  making  a  clerk  read  to  him  the  particulars  of  the 
taxed  imposed,  and  whose  heavy  brain  at  length  understood 
that  wine  was  to  be  made  dearer.  "Fellow-citizens,  we  must 
have  a  new  revolution  !  This  is  indeed  gratitude !  What 
have  we  benefited  by  restoring  this  man  !  Are  we  always  to 
be  ground  in  the  dust.^  To  pay — pay — pay  !  Is  that  all  we 
are  fit  for  ?  " 

"  Hark  to  Cecco  del  Vecchio  !  " 

**  No,  no  ;  not  now,"  growled  the  smith.  "  To-night  the 
artificers  have  a  special  meeting.     We'll  see — we'll  see  !  " 

A  young  man  muffled  in  a  cloak,  who  had  not  been  before 
observed,  touched  the  smith. 

"Whoever  storms  the  Capitol  the  day  after  to-morrow  at 
the  dawn,"  he  whispered,  "shall  find  the  guards  absent  !  " 

He  was  gone  before  the  smith  could  look  round. 

The  same  night  Rienzi,  retiring  to  rest,  said  to  Angelo 
Villani :  "  A  bold  but  necessary  measure  this  of  mine.  How 
do  the  people  take  it  ?  " 

"  They  murmur  a  little,  but  seem  to  recognize  the  necessity. 
Cecco  del  Vecchio  was  the  loudest  grumbler,  but  is  now  the 
loudest  approver." 

"  The  man  is  rough  ;  he  once  deserted  me  ;  but  then  that 
fatal  excommunication  !  He  and  the  Romans  learned  a  bitter 
lesson  in  that  desertion,  and  experience  has,  I  trust,  taught 


THE   LAST    OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  417 

them  to  be  honest.  Well,  if  this  tax  be  raised  quietly,  in  two 
years  Rome  will  be  again  the  Queen  of  Italy;  her  army 
manned— her  Republic  formed  :  and  then — then — " 

"  Then- what,  Senator  ?  " 

"  Wh'^  then,  my  Angelo,  Cola  di  Rienzi  may  die  in  peace  ! 
There  is  a  want  which  a  profound  experience  of  power  and 
pomp  brings  at  last  to  us — a  want  gnawing  as  that  of  hunger, 
wearing  as  that  of  sleep !  My  Angela^  it  is  the  want 
to  die!'" 

"  My  lord,  I  would  give  this  right  hand,"  cried  Villani  ear- 
nestly, "to  hear  you  say  you  were  attached  to  life !  " 

"  You  are  a  good  youth,  Angelo  !  "  said  Rienzi,  as  he  passed 
to  NinaV.  chamber ;  and  in  her  smile  and  wistful  tenderness, 
forgot  for  a  while — that  he  was  a  great  man  ! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   THRESHOLD   OF   THE   EVENT. 

The  next  morning  the  Senator  of  Rome  held  high  court  in 
the  Capitol.  From  Florence,  from  Padua,  from  Pisa,  even 
from  Milan  (the  dominion  of  the  Visconti),  from  Genoa,  from 
Naples,  came  ambassadors  to  wt,'lcome  his  return,  or  to  thank 
him  for  having  freed  Italy  from  the  freebooter  De  Montreal. 
Venice  alone,  who  held  in  her  pay  the  Grand  Company,  stood 
aloof.  Never  had  Rienzi  seemed  more  prosperous  and  more 
powerful,  and  never  had  he  exhibited  a  more  easy  and  cheerful 
majesty  of  demeanor. 

Scarce  was  the  audience  over  when  a  messenger  arrived 
from  Palestrina.  The  town  had  surrendered,  the  Colonna  had 
departed,  and  the  standard  of  the  Senator  waved  from  the 
walls  of  the  last  hold  of  the  rebellious  barons.  Rome  might 
at  length  consider  herself  free,  and  not  a  foe  seemed  left 
to  menace  the  repose  of  Rienzi. 

The  Court  dissolved.  The  Senator,  elated  and  joyous,  re- 
paired towards  his  private  apartments,  previous  to  the  banquet 
given  to  the  ambassadors.  Villani  met  him  with  his  wonted 
sombre  aspect. 

"  No  sadness  to-day,  my  Angelo,"  said  the  Senator  gaily; 
**  Palestrina  is  ours  !  " 

''  I  am  glad  to  hear  such  news,  and  to  see  my  lord  of  so  fair 
a  mien,"  answered  Angelo.     "  Does  he  not  now  desire  life?" 


4l8  RIEN2I, 

"  Till  Roman  virtue  revives,  perhaps — yes  !  But  thus  are 
we  fools  of  Fortune  ;  to-day  glad,  to-morrow  dejected  ! " 

"To-morrow,"  repeated  Villani  mechanically:  "Ay — to- 
morrow perhaps  dejected." 

"  Thou  playest  with  my  words,  boy,"  said  Rienzi,  half  angrily, 
as  he  turned  away. 

But  Villani  heeded  not  the  displeasure  of  his  lord. 

The  banquet  was  thronged  and  brilliant ;  and  Rienzi  that 
day,  without  an  effort,  played  the  courteous  host. 

Milanese,  Paduan,  Pisan,  Neapolitan,  vied  with  each  other 
in  attracting  the  smiles  of  the  potent  Senator.  Prodigal  were 
their  compliments;  lavish  their  promises  of  support.  No 
monarch  in  Italy  seemed  more  securely  throned. 

The  banquet  was  over  (as  usual  on  state  occasions)  at  an 
early  hour  ;  and  Rienzi,  somewhat  heated  with  wine,  strolled 
forth  alone  from  the  Capitol.  Bending  his  solitary  steps 
towards  the  Palatine,  he  saw  the  pale  and  veil-like  mists  that 
succeed  the  sunset  gather  over  the  wild  grass  which  waves 
above  the  Palace  of  the  Caesars.  On  a  mound  of  ruins  (col- 
umn and  arch  overthrown)  he  stood,  with  folded  arms,  musing 
and  intent.  In  the  distance  lay  the  melancholy  tombs  of  the 
Campagna,  and  the  circling  hills,  crested  with  the  purple  hues 
ysoon  to  melt  beneath  the  starlight.  Not  a  breeze  stirred  the 
dark  cypress  and  unwaving  pine.  There  was  something  awful 
in  the  stillness  of  the  skies,  hushing  the  desolate  grandeur  of 
the  earth  below.  Many  and  mingled  were  the  thoughts  that 
swept  over  Rienzi's  breast :  memory  was  busy  at  his  heart. 
How  often,  in  his  youth,  had  he  trodden  the  same  spot !  What 
visions  had  he  nursed  !  what  hopes  conceived  !  In  the  turbu- 
lence of  his  later  life,  Memory  had  long  slept ;  but  at  that  hour 
she  reasserted  her  shadowy  reign  with  a  despotism  that  seemed 
prophetic.  He  was  wandering,  a  boy,  with  his  young  brotlier, 
hand  in  hand,  by  the  river-side  at  eve  :  anon  he  saw  a  pale  face 
and  gory  side,  and  once  more  uttered  his  imprecations  of  re- 
venge !  His  first  successes,  his  virgin  triumphs,  his  secret  love, 
his  fame,  his  power,  his  reverses,  the  hermitage  of  Maiella,  the 
dungeon  of  Avignon,  the  triumphal  return  to  Rome, — all  swept 
across  his  breast  with  a  distinctness  as  if  he  were  living  those 
scenes  again  !  And  now  !  He  shrunk  from  the  present^  and 
descended  the  hill.  The  moon,  already  risen,  shed  her  light 
over  the  Forum,  as  he  passed  through  its  mingled  ruins.  By 
the  Temple  of  Jupiter  two  figures  suddenly  emerged ;  the 
moonlight  fell  upon  their  faces,  and  Rienzi  recognized 
Cecco    del    Vecchio    and   Angelo    Villani.     They   saw  him 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  419 

not ;    but,   eagerly  conversing,   disappeared   by  the  Arch  of 
Trajan. 

*' Villani !  ever  active  in  my  service  '.  "  thought  the  Senator; 
^''methinks  this  morning  I  spoke  to  him  harshly— it  was  churl- 
ish in  me  j " 

He  re-entered  the  Place  of  the  Capitol — he  stood  by  the 
Staircase  of  the  Lion  ;  there  was  a  red  stain  upon  the  pave- 
ment, unobliterated  since  Montreal's  execution,  and  the  Senator 
drew  himself  aside  with  an  inward  shudder.  Was  it  the  ghastly 
and  spectral  light  of  the  moon,  or  did  the  face  of  that  old 
Egyptian  monster  wear  an  aspect  that  was  as  of  life  ?  The 
stony  eyeballs  ceemed  bent  upon  him  with  a  malignant  scowl ; 
and  as  he  passed  on,  and  looked  behind,  they  appeared  almost 
preternaturally  to  follow  his  steps.  A  chill,  he  knew  not  why, 
sunk  into  his  heart.  He  hastened  to  regain  his  palace.  The 
sentinels  made  way  for  him. 

*'  Senator,"  said  one  of  them  doubtingly,  *'  Messere  Angelo 
Villani  is  our  new  captain — we  are  to  obey  his  orders .?" 

"Assuredly,"  returned  the  Senator,  passing  on.  The  man 
lingered  uneasily,  as  if  he  would  have  spoken,  but  Rienzi  ob- 
served it  not.  Seeking  his  chamber,  he  found  Nina  and  Irene 
waiting  for  him.  His  heart  yearned  to  his  wife.  Care  and  toil 
had  of  late  driven  her  from  his  thoughts,  and  he  felt  it  remorse- 
fully, as  he  gazed  upon  her  noble  face,  softened  by  the  solici- 
tude of  untiring  and  anxious  love. 

**  Sweetest,"  said  he,  winding  his  arms  around  her  tenderly ; 
**  thy  lips  never  chide  me,  but  thine  eyes  sometimes  do  !  We 
have  been  apart  too  long.  Brighter  days  dawn  upon  us,  when 
1  shall  have  leisure  to  thank  thee  for  all  thy  care.  And  you, 
my  fair  sister,  you  smile  on  me  !  Ah,  you  have  heard  that 
your  lover,  ere  this,  is  released  by  the  cession  of  Palestrina, 
and  to-morrow's  sun  will  see  him  at  your  feet.  Despite  all  the 
carec  of  the  day  I  remembered  thee,  my  Irene,  and  sent  a 
messenger  to  bring  back  the  blush  to  that  pale  cheek.  Come, 
come,  wc  shall  be  happy  again  !  "  And  with  that  domestic 
fondness  common  to  him,  when  harsher  thoughts  permitted,  he 
sate  himself  beside  the  two  persons  dearest  to  his  hearth  and 
heart. 

*'  So  happy — if  we  could  have  many  hours  like  this  !  "  mur- 
mured Nina,  sinking  on  his  breast.     "Yet  sometimes  I  wish — " 

"  And  I  too,"  interrupted  Rienzi ;  "  for  I  read  thy  woman's 
thought — /  too  sometimes  wish  that  fate  had  placed  us  in  the 
lowlier  valleys  of  life  !  But  it  may  come  yet  !  Irene  wedded 
1^  Admn — Kome  married  to  Liberty,  and  then,  Nina,  methinks 


420  RIENZT, 

you  and  I  would  find  some  quiet  hermitage,  and  talk  over  old 
gauds  and  triumphs,  as  of  a  summer's  dream.  Beautiful,  kiss 
me  !     Couldst  thou  resign  these  pomps  ?  *' 

"  For  a  desert  with  ihee^  Cola  !  " 

"  Let  me  reflect,"  resumed  Rienzi  ;  "  is  not  to-day  the  seventh 
of  Octoioer  ?  Yes !  on  the  seventh,  be  it  noted,  my  foes 
yielded  to  my  power !  Seven  !  my  fated  number,  whether 
ominous  of  good  or  evil !  Seven  months  did  I  reign  as  Trib- 
une ;  seven*  years  was  I  absent  as  an  exile  ;  to-morrow,  that 
sees  me  without  an  enemy,  completes  my  seventh  week  of 
return  ! " 

"And  seven  was  the  number  of  the  crowns  the  Roman  Con- 
vent :  and  the  Roman  Council  awarded  thee,  after  the  ceremony 
which  gave  thee  the  knighthood  of  the  Sa?ito  Spirttof"\  said 
Nina,  adding,  with  woman's  tender  wit,  "the  brightest  associa- 
tion of  all ! " 

"  Follies  seem  these  thoughts  to  others,  and  to  philosophy, 
in  truth,  they  are  so,"  said  Rienzi ;  "but  all  my  life  long,  omen 
and  type  and  shadow  have  linked  themselves  to  action  and 
event:  and  the  atmosphere  of  other  men  hath  not  been  mine. 
Life  itself  a  riddle,  why  should  riddles  amaze  us  !  The  Future! 
what  mystery  in  the  very  word  !  Had  we  lived  all  through  the 
Past,  since  Time  was,  our  profoundest  experience  of  a  thou- 
sand ages  could  not  give  us  a  guess  of  the  events  that  wait  the 
very  moment  we  are  about  to  enter  !  Thus  deserted  by  Reason, 
what  wonder  that  we  recur  to  the  Imagination,  on  which,  by 
dream  and  symbol,  God  sometimes  paints  the  likeness  of  things 
to  come?  Who  can  endure  to  leave  the  Future  all  unguessed, 
and  sit  tamely  down  to  groan  under  the  fardel  of  the  Present? 
No,  no !  that  which  the  foolish-wise  call  Fanaticism  belongs 
to  the  same  part  of  us  as  Hope.  Each  but  carries  us  on 
ward — from  a  barren  strand  to  a  glorious,  if  unbounded  sea 
Each  is  the  yearning  for  the  Great  Beyond,  which  attests  our 
immortality.  Each  has  its  visions  and  chimeras — some  false, 
but  some  true  !  Verily,  a  man  who  becomes  great  is  often  but 
made  so  by  a  kind  of  sorcery  in  his  own  soul — a  Pythia  which 
prophesies  that  he  shall  be  great — and  so  renders  the  life  one 
effort  to  fulfil  the  warning  I     Is  this  folly  ?     It  were  so,  if  all 

♦  There  was  the  lapse  of  one  year  between  the  release  of  Rienzi  from  Avignon,  and  his 
triumphal  return  to  Rome  :  a  year  chiefly  spent  in  the  campaign  of  Albornoz. 

+  This  superstition  had  an  excuse  in  strange  historical  coincidences  ;  and  the  number 
seven  was  indeed  to  Rienri  what  the  ^d  of  September  was  to  Cromwell.  The  ceremony  of 
the  seven  crowns  which  he  received  after  his  knighthood,  on  the  nature  of  which  ridicu- 
lous ignovance  has  been  shrtWh  l>y  many  recent  writers,  was,  in  fact,  prittcinally  a  religious 
•nd  typical  donation  (symbolicalot  the  gifts  of  the  Holy  Spirit),  conferred  by  the  headi 
«f  f  vt«ti"Wi4  tiltt  fwt  «l  tlM  tertme&sr  which  w«s  pvltucaJ  wtt '  tf ttMicMt)  a«t  n(«k 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   TRIBUNES.  ^21 

things  stopped  at  the  grave  !  But  perhaps  the  very  sharpening, 
and  exercising,  and  elevating  the  faculties  here — though  but 
for  a  bootless  end  on  earth — may  be  designed  to  fit  the  soul, 
thus  quickened  and  ennobled,  to  some  high  destiny  beyond  the 
earth  !     Who  can  tell  ?  not  I  !     Let  us  pray !  " 

While  the  Senator  was  thus  employed,  Rome  in  her  various 
quarters  presented  less  holy  and  quiet  scenes. 

In  the  fortress  of  the  Orsini  lights  flitted  to  and  fro  through 
the  gratings  of  the  great  court.  Angelo  Villani  might  be  seen 
stealing  from  the  postern  gate.  Another  hour,  and  the  moon 
was  high  in  heaven;  toward  the  ruins  of  the  Colosseum,  men, 
whose  dress  bespoke  them  of  the  lowest  rank,  were  seen  creep- 
ing from  lanes  and  alleys,  two  by  two;  from  these  ruins  glided 
again  the  form  of  the  son  of  Montreal.  Later  yet — the  moon 
is  sinking — a  gray  light  breaking  in  the  East — and  the  gates  of 
Rome,  by  St.  John  of  Lateran,  are  open  !  Villani  is  convers- 
ing with  the  sentries  !  The  moon  has  set — the  mountains  are 
dim  with  a  mournful  and  chilling  haze — Villani  is  before  the 
palace  of  the  Capitol — the  o?ily  soldier  there  !  Where  are  the 
Roman  legions  that  were  to  guard  alike  the  freedom  and  the 
deliverer  of  Rome  ? 


CHAPTER  THE  LAST. 

THE   CLOSE   OF   THE   CHASE. 

It  was  the  morning  of  the  8th  of  October,  1354.  Rienzi, 
who  rose  betimes,  stirred  restlessly  in  his  bed.  "  It  is  yet  early," 
he  said  to  Nina,  whose  soft  arm  was  round  his  neck,  "  none  of 
my  people  seem  to  be  astir.  Howbeit,  my  day  begins  before 
their  s^ 

"  Rest  yet,  my  Cola ;  you  want  sleep." 

"  No;  I  feel  feverish,  and  this  old  pain  in  the  side  torments 
me.     I  have  letters  to  write." 

"  Let  me  be  your  secretary,  dearest,"  said  Nina. 

Rienzi  smiled  affectionately  as  he  rose  ;  he  repaired  to  his 
closet  adjoining  his  sleeping  apartment,  and  used  the  bath  as 
was  his  wont.  Then  dressing  himself,  he  returned  to  Nina, 
who,  already  loosely  robed,  sate  by  the  writing-table,  ready  for 
her  office  of  love. 

*'  How  still  are  all  things  !  "  said  Rienzi.  *'  What  a  cool  and 
delicious  prelude,  in  these  early  hours,  to  the  toilsome  day." 


422  RIENZT, 

Leaning  over  his  wife,  he  then  dictated  different  letters,  m« 
terrupting  the  task  at  times  by  such  observations  as  crossed 
his  mind. 

"  So,  now  to  Annibaldi !  By  the  way,  young  Adrian  should 
join  us  to-day;  how  I  rejoice  for  Irene's  sake  !  " 

*'  Dear  sister — yes  !  she  loves, — if  any,  Cola,  can  so  love, — 
as  we  do." 

"  Well,  but  to  your  task,  my  fair  scribe.  Ha  !  what  noise  is 
that  ?  I  hear  an  armed  step — the  stairs  creak — some  one  shouts 
my  name." 

Rienzi  flew  to  his  sword  !  the  door  was  thrown  rudely  open 
and  a  figure  in  complete  armor  appeared  within  the  chamber. 

**  How  !  what  means  this?  "said  Rienzi,  standing  before 
Nina,  with  his  drawn  sword. 

The  intruder  lifted  his  visor ;  it  was  Adrian  Colonna. 

*'  Fly,  Rienzi !  hasten,  Signora  !  Thank  Heaven,  I  can  save 
ye  yet !  Myself  and  train  released  by  the  capture  of  Palestrina, 
the  pain  of  my  wound  detained  me  last  night  at  Tivoli.  The 
town  was  filled  with  armed  men — not  f^i'/ie,  Senator.  I  heard 
rumors  that  alarmed  me.  I  resolved  to  proceed  onward ;  I 
reached  Rome,  the  gates  of  the  city  were  wide  open  !  " 

"  How  !  " 

"  Your  guard  gone.  Presently  I  came  upon  a  band  of  the 
retainers  of  the  Savelli.  My  insignia,  as  a  Colonna,  misled 
them.  I  learned  that  this  very  hour  some  of  your  enemies  are 
within  the  city,  the  rest  are  on  their  march,  the  people  them- 
selves arm  against  you.  In  the  obscurer  streets  I  passed 
through  the  mob  were  already  forming.  They  took  me  for  thy 
foe,  and  shouted.  I  came  hither ;  thy  sentries  have  vanished. 
The  private  door  below  is  unbarred  and  open.  Not  a  soul  seems 
left  in  thy  palace.    Haste — fly — save  thyself  !    Where  is  Irene  ?" 

"The  Capitol  deserted! — impossible  !"  cried  Rienzi.  Ho 
strode  across  the  chambers  to  the  ante-room,  where  his  night- 
guard  usually  waited — it  was  empty !  He  passed  hastily  to 
Villani's  room — it  was  untenanted  !  He  would  have  passed 
.'arther,  but  the  doors  were  secured  with\)ut.  It  was  evident 
iViat  all  egress  had  been  cut  off,  save  by  the  private  door  be- 
low,— and  />^a/  had  been  left  open  to  admit  his  murtherers  ! 

He  returned  to  his  room.  Nina  had  already  gone  to  rouse 
and  prepare  Irene,  whose  chamber  was  on  the  other  side, 
within  one  of  their  own. 

"Quick,  Senator!"  said  Adrian.  "  Methinks  there  is  yet 
time.  We  must  make  across  to  the  Tiber.  I  have  stationed  my 
faithful  squires  and  Northmen  there.     A  boat  waits  us." 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  423 

"  Hark !  "  interrupted  Rienzi,  whose  senses  had  of  late  been 
preternaturally  quickened.  "  I  hear  a  distant  shout — a  familiar 
shout,  '  Viva  '1  Popolo  ! '  Why,  so  say  I !  These  must  be 
friends." 

"  Deceive  not  thyself  ;  thou  hast  scarce  a  friena  at  Rome." 

"Hist,"  said  Rienzi  in  a  whisper;  "save  Nina — save  Irene, 
I  cannot  accompany  thee." 

"Art  thou  mad?" 

"  No  !  but  fearless.  Besides,  did  I  accompany,  I  might  but 
destroy  you  all.  Were  I  found  with  you,  you  would  be  mas- 
sacred with  me.  Without  me  ye  are  safe.  Yes,  even  the  Sen- 
ator's wife  and  sister  have  provoked  no  revenge.  Save  them, 
noble  Colonna !     Cola  di  Rienzi  puts  his  trust  in  God  alone  !  " 

By  this  time  Nina  had  returned,  Irene  with  her.  Afar  was 
heard  the  tramp — steady — slow — gathering — of  the  fatal  mul- 
titude. 

"  Now,  Cola,"  said  Nina,  with  a  bold  and  cheerful  air,  and 
she  took  her  husband's  arm,  while  Adrian  had  already  found 
his  charge  in  Irene. 

"Yes,  no7v,  Nina!"  said  Rienzi;  "at  length  we  part!  If 
this  is  my  last  hour — in  my  last  hour  I  pray  God  to  bless  and 
shield  thee  !  for  verily,  thou  hast  been  my  exceeding  solace- 
provident  as  a  parent,  tender  as  a  child,  the  smile  of  my  hearth, 
the— the— " 

Rienzi  was  almost  unmanned.  Emotions,  deep,  conflicting, 
unspeakably  fond  and  grateful,  literally  choked  his  speech. 

"  What  ! "  cried  Nina,  clinging  to  his  breast,  and  parting  her 
hair  from  her  eyes,  as  she  sought  his  averted  face.  "Part  ! 
never !  This  is  my  place ;  all  Rome  shall  not  tear  me 
from  it!" 

Adrian,  in  despair,  seized  her  hand,  and  attempted  to  drag 
her  thence. 

"  Touch  me  not,  sir  !  "  said  Nina,  waving  her  arm  with  angry 
majesty,  while  her  eyes  sparkled  as  a  lioness  whom  the  hunts- 
men would  sever  from  her  young.  "  I  am  the  wife  of  Cola  di 
Rienzi,  the  Great  Senator  of  Rome,  and  by  his  side  will  I  live 
and  die ! " 

"  Take  her  hence  :  quick !  quick  !  I  hear  the  crowd  ad- 
vancing." 

Irene  tore  herself  from  Adrian,  and  fell  at  the  feet  of  Rienzi; 
she  clasped  his  knees. 

"  Come,  my  brother,  come  !  Why  lose  these  precious  mo- 
ments? Rome  forbids  you  to  cast  away  a  life  in  which  hef 
very  self  is  l^ound  up." 


424  RIENZI, 

"  Right,  Irene  ;  Rome  is  bound  up  with  me,  and  we  will 
rise  or  fall  together  ! — no  more  !  " 

"  You  destroy  us  all  !  "  said  Adrian,  with  generous  and  im- 
patient warmth.  *'A  few  minutes  more,  and  we  are  lost. 
Rash  man  !  it  is  not  to  fall  by  an  infuriate  mob  that  you  have 
been  preserved  from  so  many  dangers." 

"  I  believe  it,"  said  the  Senator,  as  his  tall  form  seemed  to 
dilate  as  with  the  greatness  of  his  own  soul.  "  I  shall  triumph 
yet!  Never  shall  mine  enemies — never  shall  posterity  say  that 
a  second  time  Rienzi  abandoned  Rome!  Hark!  *  Viva  7 
Popolo?'  still  the  cry  of  'The  People.'  That  cry  scares 
none  but  tyrants  !     I  shall  triumph  and  survive  !  " 

"And  I  with  thee  !  "  said  Nina  firmly.  Rienzi  paused  a 
moment,  gazed  on  his  wife,  passionately  clasped  her  ,to  his 
heart,  kissed  her  again  and  again,  and  then  said,  "  Nina,  I  com- 
mand thee, — Go  !  " 

"Never!" 

He  paused.     Irene's  face,  drowned  in  tears,  met  his  eyes. 

"We  will  all  perish  with  you,"  said  his  sister  ;  "you  only, 
Adrian,  you  leave  us  !  " 

"Be  it  so,"  said  the  knight  sadly  ;  "  we  will  all  remain,"  and 
he  desisted  at  once  from  further  effort. 

There  was  a  dead  but  short  pause,  broken  but  by  a  con- 
vulsive sob  from  Irene.  The  tramp  of  the  raging  thousands 
sounded  fearfully  distinct.  Rienzi  seemed  lost  in  thought ; 
then  lifting  his  head,  he  said,  calmly,  "Ye  have  triumphed — I 
join  ye  ;  I  but  collect  these  papers,  and  follow  you.  Quick, 
Adrian,  save  them  !  "  and  he  pointed  meaningly  to  Nina. 

Waiting  no  other  hint,  the  young  Colonna  seized  Nina  in  his 
strong  grasp  ;  with  his  left  hand  he  supported  Irene,  who  with 
terror  and  excitement  was  almost  insensible.  Rienzi  relieved 
him  of  the  lighter  load ;  he  took  his  sister  in  his  arms,  and 
descended  the  winding  stairs.  Nina  remained  passive — she 
heard  her  husband's  step  behind,  it  was  enough  for  her — she 
but  turned  once  to  thank  him  with  her  eyes.  A  tall  Northman 
clad  in  armor  stood  at  the  open  door.  Rienzi  placed  Irene, 
now  perfectly  lifeless,  in  the  soldier's  arms,  and  kissed  her  pale 
cheek  in  silence. 

"Quick,  my  lord,"  said  the  Northman,  "on  all  sides  they 
come!"  So  saying,  he  bounded  down  the  descent  with  his 
burthen.  Adrian  followed  with  Nina  ;  the  Senator  paused  one 
moment,  turned  back,  and  was  in  his  room,  ere  Adrian  was 
aware  that  he  had  vanished. 

Hastily  he  drew  the  coverlid  fronm  his  bed,  fastened  it  to  the 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  425 

casement  bars,  and  by  its  aid  dropped  (at  a  distance  of  several 
feet)  into  the  balcony  below.  "  I  will  not  die  like  a  rat,"  said 
he,  "  in  the  trap  they  have  set  for  me  !  The  whole  crowd  shall, 
at  least,  see  and  hear  me." 

This  was  the  work  of  a  moment. 

Meanwhile  Nina  had  scarcely  proceeded  six  paces,  before 
she  discovered  that  she  was  alone  with  Adrian. 

"  Ha  !  Cola  !  "  she  cried,  "  where  is  he  ?  he  has  gone  !  " 

"  Take  heart,  lady,  he  has  returned  but  for  some  secret 
papers  he  has  forgotten.     He  will  follow  us  anon." 

"  Let  us  wait,  then." 

"  Lady,"  said  Adrian,  grinding  his  teeth,  *'  hear  you  not  the 
crowd?  on,  on!"  and  he  flew  with  a  swifter  step.  Nina 
struggled  in  his  grasp — Love  gave  her  the  strength  of  despair. 
With  a  wild  laugh  she  broke  from  him.  She  flew  back — the 
door  was  closed,  but  unbarred  ;  her  trembling  hands  lingered 
a  moment  round  the  spring.  She  opened  it,  drew  the  heavy 
bolt  across  the  panels,  and  frustrated  all  attempt  from  Adrian 
to  regain  her.  She  was  on  the  stairs, — she  was  in  the  room. 
Rienzi  was  gone !  She  fled,  shrieking  his  name,  through  the 
State  Chambers — all  was  desolate.  Slie  found  the  doors  open- 
ing on  the  various  passages  that  admitted  to  the  rooms  below 
barred  without.  Breathless  and  gasping,  she  returned  to  the 
chamber.  She  hurried  to  the  casement ;  she  perceived  the 
method  by  which  he  had  descended  below  ;  her  brave  heart 
told  her  of  his  brave  design  ;  she  saw  they  were  separated. 
"But  the  same  roof  holds  us,"  she  cried  joyously,  "and  our 
fate  shall  be  the  same  ! "  With  that  thought  she  sank  in  mute 
patience  on  the  floor. 

Forming  the  generous  resolve  not  to  abandon  the  faithful 
and  devoted  pair  without  another  effort,  Adrian  had  followed 
Nina,  but  too  late  ;  the  door  was  closed  against  his  efforts.  The 
crowd  marched  on  ;  he  heard  their  cry  change  on  a  sudden  ;  it 
was  no  longer  *'  Live  the  People  !  "  but,  **  Death  to  the 
Traitor  !  "  His  attendant  had  already  disappeared,  and  wak- 
ing now  only  to  the  danger  of  Irene,  the  Colonna  in  bitter  grief 
turned  away,  lightly  sped  down  the  descent,  and  hastened  to 
the  river-side,  where  the  boat  and  his  band  awaited  him. 

The  balcony  on  which  Rienzi  had  alighted  was  that  from 
which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  address  the  people  ;  it  com- 
municated with  a  vast  hall  used  on  solemn  occasions  for  State 
festivals,  and  on  either  side  were  square  projecting  towers, 
whose  grated  casements  looked  into  the  balcony.  One  of  these 
tpwers  was  devoted  to  the  armory,  the  other  contained  the 


426  RIENZI, 

prison  of  Brettone,  the  brother  of  Montreal.  Beyond  the  latter 
tower  was  the  general  prison  of  the  Capitol.  For  then  the 
prison  and  the  palace  were  in  awful  neighborhood ! 

The  windows  of  the  hall  were  yet  open,  and  Rienzi  passed  into 
it  from  the  balcony  ;  the  witness  of  the  yesterday's  banquet  was 
still  there — the  wine,  yet  undried,  crimsoned  the  floor,  and 
goblets  of  gold  and  silver  shone  from  the  recesses.  He  pro- 
ceeded at  once  to  the  armory,  and  selected  from  the  various 
suits  that  which  he  himself  had  worn  when,  nearly  eight  years 
ago,  he  had  chased  the  barons  from  the  gates  of  Rome.  He 
arrayed  himself  in  the  mail,  leaving  only  his  head  uncovered  ; 
and  then  taking  in  his  right  hand,  from  the  wall,  the  great 
Gonfalon  of  Rome,  returned  once  more  to  the  hall.  Not  a  man 
encountered  him.  In  that  vast  building,  save  the  prisoner  and 
the  faithful  Nina,  whose  presence  he  knew  not  of,  the  Senator 
was  alone. 

On  they  came,  no  longer  in  measured  order,  as  stream  after 
stream — from  lane,  from  alley,  from  palace,  and  from  hovel—- 
the  raging  sea  received  new  additions.  On  they  came,  their 
passions  excited  by  their  numbers — women  and  men,  children 
and  malignant  age — in  all  the  awful  array  of  aroused,  released, 
unresisted  physical  strength  and  brutal  wrath  ;  "  Death  to  the 
traitor — death  to  the  tyrant — death  to  him  who  has  taxed  the 
people  !  " — ''Mora  V  traditore  che  ha  fatta  lagabella  ! — Mora  !  ** 
Such  was  the  cry  of  the  people  ;  such  the  crime  of  the  Senator  \ 
They  broke  over  the  low  palisades  of  the  Capitol ;  they  filled 
with  one  sudden  rush  the  vast  space — a  moment  before  so  des- 
olate, now  swarming  with  human  beings  athirst  for  blood  ! 

Suddenly  came  a  dead  silence,  and  on  the  balcony  above 
stood  Rienzi  ;  his  head  was  bared  and  the  morning  sun  shone 
over  that  lordly  brow,  and  the  hair,  grown  gray  before  its  time, 
in  the  service  of  that  maddening  multitude.  Pale  and  erect 
he  stood,  neither  fear,  nor  anger,  nor  menace — but  deep  grief 
and  high  resolve — upon  his  features  !  A  momentary  shame,  a 
momentary  awe,  seized  the  crowd. 

He  pointed  to  the  Gonfalon  wrought  with  the  Republican 
motto  and  arms  of  Rome,  and  thus  he  began  : 

"  I  too  am  a  Roman  and  a  citizen  ;  hear  me  ! " 

*'  Hear  him  not !  hear  him  not  !  his  false  tongue  can  charm 
away  our  senses  !  "  cried  a  voice  louder  than  his  own  :  and 
Rienzi  recognized  Cecco  del  Vecchio, 

"  Hear  him  not !  down  with  the  tyrant !  "  cried  a  more 
shrill  and  youthful  tone  ;  and  by  the  side  of  the  artisan  stoo(J 
Angelo  ViUani, 


THE   LAST   OF    THE   TRIBUNES.  4^7 

"Hear  him  not!  death  to  the  death-giver !"  cried  a  voice 
close  at  hand,  and  from  the  grating  of  the  neighboring  prison 
glared  near  upon  him,  as  the  eye  of  a  tiger,  the  venn;eful  gaze 
of  the  brother  of  Montreal. 

Then  from  Earth  to  Heaven  rose  the  roar  :  "  Down  with 
the  tyrant — down  with  him  who  taxed  the  people  !  " 

A  shower  of  stones  rattled  on  the  mail  of  the  Senator, — still 
he  stirred  not.  No  changing  muscle  betokened  fear.  His  per- 
suasion of  his  own  wonderful  powers  of  eloquence,  if  he  could 
but  be  heard,  inspired  him  yet  with  hope ;  he  stood  collected 
in  his  own  indignant,  but  determined  thoughts  ;  but  the  knowl- 
edge of  that  very  eloquence  was  now  his  deadliest  foe.  The 
leaders  of  the  multitude  trembled  lest  he  should  be  heard  ; 
**  and  doubtless^'  says  the  contemporaneous  biographer,  "  had, 
he  but  spoken  he  would  have  changed  them  all^  and  the  work  been 
marred.'' 

The  soldiers  of  the  barons  had  already  mixed  themselves 
with  the  throng  ;  more  deadly  weapons  than  stones  aided  the 
wrath  of  the  multitude  ;  darts  and  arrows  darkened  the  air  ; 
and  now  a  voice  was  heard  shrieking,  "  Way  for  the  torches  !  " 
And  red  in  the  sunlight  the  torches  tossed  and  waved, 
and  danced  to  and  fro,  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  as 
if  the  fiends  were  let  loose  amongst  the  mob  !  And  what 
place  in  hell  hath  fiends  like  those  a  mad  mob  can  furnish  ? 
Straw,  and  wood,  and  litter,  were  piled  hastily  round  the  great 
doors  of  the  Capitol,  and  the  smoke  curled  suddenly  up,  beat' 
ing  back  the  rush  of  the  assailants. 

Rienzi  was  no  longer  visible,  an  arrow  had  pierced  his  hand — ' 
the  right  hand  that  supported  the  flag  of  Rome — the  right 
hand  that  had  given  a  constitution  to  the  Republic.  He  re- 
tired from  the  storm  into  the  desolate  hall. 

He  sat  down  ;  and  tears,  springing  from  no  weak  woman 
source,  but  tears  from  the  loftiest  fountain  of  emotion — tears 
that  befit  a  warrior  when  his  own  troops  desert  him — a  patriot 
when  his  countrymen  rush  to  their  own  doom — a  father 
when  his  children  rebel  against  his  love, — tears  such  as  these 
forced  themselves  from  his  eyes  and  relieved,  but  they  changed^ 
his  heart ! 

"  Enough,  enough  ! "  he  said,  presently  rising  and  dashing 
the  drops  scornfully  away ;  *'  I  have  risked,  dared,  toiled 
enough  for  this  dastard  and  degenerate  race.  I  will  yet  baffle 
their  malice  !  I  renounce  the  thought  of  which  they  are  so 
httle  worthy  !  Let  Rome  perish  !  I  feel,  at  last,  that  I  am 
nobler  than  my  country  !  she  deserves  not  so  high  a  sacrifice  1  ** 


428  RIENZI, 

With  that  feeling,  Death  lost  all  the  nobleness  of  aspect  it 
had  before  presented  to  him  ;  and  he  resolved,  in  very  scorn 
of  his  ungrateful  foes,  in  very  defeat  of  their  inhuman  wrath, 
to  make  one  effort  for  his  life  !  He  divested  himself  of  his 
glittering  arms  ;  his  address,  his  dexterity,  his  craft,  returned 
to  him.  His  active  mind  ran  over  the  chances  of  disguise — of 
escape  ;  he  left  the  hall,  passed  through  the  humbler  rooms 
devoted  to  the  servitors  and  menials,  found  in  one  of  them  a 
coarse  working  garb*;  indued  himself  with  it,  placed  upon  his 
head  some  of  the  draperies  and  furniture  of  the  palace,  as  if 
escaping  with  them  ;  and  said,  with  his  old  ^''  fantastico  riso  "  * 
*'  When  all  other  friends  desert  me,  I  may  well  forsake  my- 
self !  "     With  that  he  awaited  his  occasion. 

Meanwhile  the  flames  burnt  fierce  and  fast  ;  the  outer  door 
below  was  already  consumed  ;  from  the  apartment  he  had  de* 
serted  the  fire  burst  out  in  volleys  of  smoke — the  wood  crackled, 
the  lead  melted — with  a  crash  fell  the  severed  gates — the 
dreadful  entrance  was  opened  to  all  the  multitude — the  proud 
Capitol  of  the  Caesars  was  already  tottering  to  its  fall  ! 
Now  was  the  time !  He  passed  the  flaming  door — the  smoul- 
dering threshold  ;  he  passed  the  outer  gate  unscathed — he  was 
in  the  middle  of  the  crowd.  *'  Plenty  of  pillage  within,"  he 
said  to  the  bystanders,  in  the  Roman  patois^  his  face  concealed 
by  his  load  :  ^^  Suso^  suso  a  gliu  tradiioref*  The  mob  rushed 
past  him — he  went  on — he  gained  the  last  stair  descending 
into  the  open  streets — he  was  at  the  last  gate — liberty  and  life 
were  before  him. 

A  soldier  (one  of  his  ov/n)  seized  him.  "  Pass  not — whither 
goest  thou  ?  " 

*'  Beware,  lest  the  Senator  escape  disguised  !  "  cried  a  voice 
behind — it  was  Villani's.  The  concealing  load  was  torn  from 
his  head — Rienzi  stood  revealed  ! 

"  I  am  the  Senator  !  "  he  said  in  a  loud  voice.  "Who  dare 
louch  the  Representative  of  the  People  ?" 

The  multitude  were  round  him  in  an  instant.  Not  led,  but 
rather  hurried  and  whirled  along,  the  Senator  was  borne  to  the 
Place  of  the  Lion.  With  the  intense  glare  of  the  bursting 
flames,  the  gray  image  reflected  a  lurid  light,  and  glowed — 
(that  grim  and  solemn  monument  !) — as  if  itself  of  fire ! 

There  arrived,  the  crowd  gave  way,  terrified  by  the  great- 
ness of  their  victim.  Silent  he  stood,  and  turned  his  face 
around  ;  nor  could  the  squalor  of  his  garb,  nor  the  terror  o^ 

♦  "  Fantastic  smile  or  laugh."  • 

t"  Down,  down  with  the  traitor." 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    TRIBUNES.  429 

the  hour,  nor  the  proud  grief  of  detection,  abate  the  majesty 
of  his  mien,  or  reassure  the  courage  of  the  thousands  who 
gathered,  gazing,  round  him.  The  whole  Capitol,  wrapped  in 
fire,  lighted  with  ghastly  pomp  the  immense  multitude.  Down  the 
long  vista  of  the  streets  extended  the  fiery  light  and  the  serried 
throng,  till  the  crowd  closed  with  the  gleaming  standards  of  the 
Colonna — the  Orsini — the  Savelli  !  Her  true  tyrants  were 
marching  into  Rome  !  As  the  sound  of  their  approaching 
horns  and  trumpets  broke  upon  the  burning  air,  the  mob 
seemed  to  regain  their  courage.  Rienzi  prepared  to  speak  ; 
his    first  word  was  as  the  signal  of  his  own  death. 

"  Die,  tyrant  !  "  cried  Cecco  del  Vecchio  ;  and  he  plunged 
his  dagger  in  the  Senator's  breast. 

"  Die,  executioner  of  Montreal !  "  muttered  Villani ;  '*  thus 
the  trust  is  fulfilled  !  "  and  his  was  the  second  stroke.  Then, 
as  he  drew  back  and  saw  the  artisan,  in  all  the  drunken  fury  of 
his  brute  passion,  tossing  up  his  cap,  shouting  aloud,  and  spurn- 
ing the  fallen  lion,  the  young  man  gazed  upon  him  with  a  look 
of  withering  and  bitter  scorn,  and  said,  while  he  sheathed  his 
blade,  and  slowly  turned  to  quit  the  crowd  : 

"  Fool,  miserable  fool !  thou  and  these  at  least  had  no  blood  of 
kindred  to  avenge  !  " 

They  heeded  not  his  words — they  saw  him  not  depart :  for 
as  Rienzi,  without  a  word,  without  a  groan,  fell  to  the  earth — 
as  the  roaring  waves  of  the  multitude  closed  over  him — a  voice, 
shrill,  sharp,  and  wild,  was  heard  above  all  the  clamor.  At  the 
casement  of  the  palace  (the  casement  of  her  bridal  chamber) 
Nina  stood  ! — through  the  flames  that  burst  below  and  around, 
her  face  and  outstretched  arms  alone  visible  !  Ere  yet  the 
sound  of  that  thrilling  cry  passed  from  the  air,  down  with  a 
mighty  crash  thundered  that  whole  wing  of  the  Capitol — a 
blackened  and  smouldering  mass  ! 

At  that  hour  a  solitary  boat  was  gliding  swiftly  along  the 
Tiber.  Rome  was  at  a  distance  ;  but  the  lurid  glow  of  the 
conflagration  cast  its  reflection  upon  the  placid  and  glassy 
stream  :  fair  beyond  description  was  the  landscape — soft  be- 
yond all  art  of  painter  and  of  poet,  the  sunlight  qijvering  over 
the  autumnal  herbage,  and  hushing  into  tender  calm  the  waves 
of  the  golden  river  ! 

Adrian's  eyes  were  strained  towards  the  towers  of  tne  Capi- 
tol, distinguished  by  the  flames  from  the  spires  and  domes 
around  ;  senseless,  and  clasped  to  his  guardian  brea«t,  Iren« 
WAS  happily  unconscioufi  of  the  horrors  o4  thf  iiro«v 


43^  APPENDIX. 

"They  dare  not^ — they  dare  not,"  said  the  brave  Col  on  n  a, 
"touch  a  hair  of  that  sacred  head!  If  Rienzi  fall,  the  liberties 
of  Rome  fall  forever  !  As  those  towers  that  surmount  the 
flames,  the  pride  and  monument  of  Rome,  he  shall  rise  above 
the  dangers  of  the  hour.  Behold,  still  unscathed  amidst  the 
raging  element,  the  Capitol  itself  is  his  emblem  !  " 

Scarce  had  he  spoken,  when  avast  volume  of  smoke  obscured 
the  fires  afar  off,  a  dull  crash  (deadened  by  the  distance)  trav- 
elled to  his  ear,  and  the  next  moment  the  towers  on  which  he 
gazed  had  vanished  from  the  scene,  and  one  intense  and  sullen 
glare  seemed  to  settle  over  the  atmosphere, — making  all  Rome 
itself  the  funeral  pyre  of  the  Last  of  the  Roman  Tri- 
bunes ! 


APPENDIX  I. 

SOME  REMARKS  ON  THE  LIFE  AND  CHARACTER  OF  RIENZI. 

The  principal  authority  from  which  historians  have  taken  their  account  of 
the  life  and  times  of  Rienzi  is  a  very  curious  biography,  by  some  unknown 
contemporary  ;  and  this,  which  is  in  the  Roman  patois  of  the  time,  has  been 
rendered  not  quite  unfamiliar  to  the  French  and  English  reader  by  the  work 
of  Pere  du  Cerceau,  called  *'  Conjuration  de  Nicolas  Gabini,  dit  de  Rienzi,"  * 
which  has  at  once  pillaged  and  deformed  the  Roman  biographer.  The 
biography  I  refer  to  was  published  (and  the  errors  of  the  former  editions 
revised)  by  Muratori  in  his  great  collection  ;  and  has  lately  been  reprinted 
separately  in  an  improved  text,  accompanied  by  notes  of  much  discrimi- 
nation and  scholastic  taste,  and  a  comment  upon  that  celebrated  poem  of 
Petrarch,  "  Spirto  Gentil,"  which  the  majority  of  Italian  critics  have  con- 
curred in  considering  addressed  to  Rienzi,  in  spite  of  the  ingenious  argu- 
ments to  the  contrary  by  the  Abbe  de  Sade. 

This  biography  has  been  generally  lauded  for  its  rare  impartiality.  And  the 
author  does,  indeed,  praise  and  blame  alike  with  a  most  singular  appearance 
of  stolid  candor.  The  work,  in  truth,  is  one  of  those  not  uncommon  proofs, 
of  which  Boswell's  "Johnson"  is  the  most  striking,  that  a  very  valuable 
book  may  be  written  by  a  very  silly  man.  The  biographer  of  Rienzi  appears 
more  like  the  historian  of  Rienzi's  clothes,  so  minute  is  he  on  all  details  of 
their  color  and  quality  ;  so  silent  is  he  upon  everything  that  could  throw 
light  upon  the  motives  of  their  wearer.  In  fact,  granting  the  writer  every 
desire  to  be  impartial,  he  is  too  foolish  to  be  so.  It  requires  some  clever- 
ness to  judge  accurately  of  a  very  clever  man  in  very  difficult  circumstances  ; 
and  the  worthy  biographer  is  utterly  incapa])le  of  giving  us  any  clue  to  the 
actions  of  Rienzi — utterly  unable  to  explain  the  conduct  of  the  man  by  the 
circumstances  of  the  time.  The  weakness  of  his  vision  causes  him,  there- 
fore, often  to  squint.  We  must  add  to  his  want  of  wisdom,  a  want  of  truth, 
which  the  Herodotus-like  simplicity  of  his  style  frequently  conceals.  He 
describcf.  things  which  had  no  witness,  as  precisely   and   distinctly  as  those 

*  Sit  (ffT  f  apwpimen  of  the  singular  blunders  oi  tH*  frenchman's  work,  Appendix  lit 


APPENDIX.  431 

vhich  he  himself  had  seen.  For  instance,  before  the  death  of  Rienzi,  in 
those  awful  moments  when  the  Senator  was  alone,  unheard,  unseen,  he 
coolly  informs  us  of  each  motion  and  each  thought  of  Rienzi's,  with  as  much 
detail  as  if  Rienzi  had  returned  from  the  grave  to  assist  his  narration.  These 
obvious  inventions  have  been  adopted  by  Gibbon  and  others  with  more  good 
faith  than  the  laws  of  evidence  would  warrant.  Still,  however,  to  a  patient 
and  cautious  reader  the  biography  may  furnish  a  much  better  notion  of 
Rienzi's  character  than  we  can  glean  from  the  historians  who  have  borrowed 
from  it  piecemeal.  Such  a  reader  will  discard  all  the  writer's  reasonings, 
will  think  little  of  his  praise  or  blame,  and  regard  only  the  facts  he  narrates, 
judging  them  true  or  doubtful,  according  as  the  writer  had  the  opportunities 
of  being  himself  the  observer.  Thus  examining,  the  reader  will  find  evi- 
dence sufficient  of  Rienzi's  genius  and  Rienzi's  failings  :  carefully  distin- 
guishing between  the  period  of  his  power  as  Tribune,  and  that  of  his 
power  as  Senator,  he  will  find  the  Tribune  vain,  haughty,  fond  of  display  ; 
but,  despite  the  reasonings  of  the  biographer,  he  will  not  recognize  those 
faults  in  the  Senator.  On  the  other  hand,  he  will  notice  the  difference  be 
tween  youth  and  maturity — hope  and  experience  ;  he  will  notice  in  the 
Tribune  vast  ambition,  great  schemes,  enterprising  activity,  which  sober 
into  less  gorgeous  and  more  quiet  colors  in  the  portrait  of  the  Senator.  He 
will  find  that  in  neither  instance  did  Rienzi  fall  from  his  own  faults  ;  he  will 
find  that  the  vulgar  moral  of  ambition,  blasted  by  its  own  excesses,  is  not 
the  true  moral  of  the  Roman's  life  :  he  will  find  that,  both  in  his  abdication 
as  Tribune,  and  his  death  as  Senator,  Rienzi  fell  from  the  vices  of  the  Peo- 
ple. The  Tribune  was  a  victim  to  ignorant  cowardice  ;  the  Senator,  a  vic- 
tim to  ferocious  avarice.  It  is  this  which  modern  historians  have  failed  to 
represent.  Gibbon  records  rightly  that  the  Count  of  Minorbino  entered 
Rome  with  one  hundred  and  fifty  soldiers,  and  barricaded  the  quarter  of  the 
Colonna — that  the  bell  of  the  Capitol  sounded — that  Rienzi  addressed  the 
People — that  they  were  silent  and  inactive — and  that  Rienzi  then  abdicated 
the  government.  But  for  this  he  calls  Rienzi  "pusillanimous."  Is  not  that 
epithet  to  be  applied  to  the  People  ?  Rienzi  invoked  them  to  move  against  the 
Robber, — the  People  refused  to  obey.  Rienzi  wished  to  fight, — the  People 
refused  to  stir.  It  was  not  the  cause  of  Rienzi  alone  which  demanded  their 
exertions — it  was  the  cause  of  the  People — theirs,  not  his,  the  shame,  if  one 
hundred  and  fifty  foreign  soldiers  mastered  Rome,  overthrew  their  liberties, 
and  restored  their  tyrants  !  Whatever  Rienzi's  sins,  whatever  his  unpopu- 
larity, their  freedom,  their  laws,  their  republic,  were  at  stake  ;  and  these 
they  surrendered  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  hirelings  !  This  is  the  fact  thai 
damns  them  !  But  Rienzi  was  not  unpopular  when  he  addressed  and  con- 
jured them  :  they  found  no  fault  with  him.  "  The  sighs  and  the  groans  of 
the  People,"  says  Sismondi,  justly,  "rephed  to  his" — they  could  weep,  but 
they  would  not  fight.  This  strange  apathy  the  modern  historians  have  not 
accounted  for,  yet  the  principal  cause  was  obvious — Rienzi  was  excommuni- 
cated !  *   In  stating  the  fact,  these  writers  have  seemed  to  think  that  excom- 

*  And  this  curse  I  apprehend  to  have  been  the  more  effective  in  the  instance  of  Fienzi, 
from  a  fact  that  it  would  be  interesting  and  easy  to  establish  :  viz.,  that  he  owed  his  ns>e  as 
much  to  religious  as  to  civil  causes.  He  aimed  evidently  to  be  a  religious  Reformer.  All 
his  devices,  ceremonies,  and  watchwords,  were  of  a  religious  character.  The  monki  took 
part  with  his  enterprise,  and  joined  in  the  revolution.  His  letters  arc  full  of  mystical  fan- 
aticism. His  references  to  ancient  heroes  of  Rome  are  always  mingled  with  invoca- 
tions to  her  Christian  Saints.  The  Bible,  at  that  time  little  re.*d  by  the  public  civilians  of 
Italy,  is  constantly  in  his  hands,  and  his  addresses  studded  with  texts.  His  very  garments 
were  adorned  with  sacred  and  mysterious  emblems.  No  douht,  the  ceremony  of  his  Knighu 
hood,  which  Gibbon  ridicules  as  an  act  of  mere  vanity,  was  hut  another  of  his  religious 
extravagances;  for  he  peculiarly  dedicated  his  Knighthood  to  the  service  cC  the  Santo 


432  APPENDIX. 

munication  in  Rome,  in  the  fourteenth  century,  produced  no  effect  !     The 
effect  it  did  produce  I  have  endeavored  in  these  pages  to  convey. 

The  causes  of  tlie  second  fall  and  rinal  murder  of  Kienzi  are  equally  mis- 
stated by  niodcrii  narrators.  It  was  from  no  fault  of  his — no  injustice,  no 
crueltv.  no  extrava:Jance— it  was  not  from  ihe  execution  of  Montreal  nor  that 
of  Pandulto  di  (luido  ;  it  was  from  a  gabelle  on  ivine  and  salt  that  he  fell.  To 
preserve  Rome  from  the  tyrants  it  was  necessary  to  manitain  an  armed  force  ; 
to  pay  the  force  a  tax  was  necessary  ,  the  tax  was  imposed,  and  the  multi- 
tude joined  with  the  tyrants,  and  their  cry  was,  "  Perish  the  traitor  who  has 
made  the  gabelle  !''  'I'his  was  their  only  charge  ;  this  the  only  crime  that 
{heir  passions  and  their  fury  could  cite  against  him. 

The  faults  of  Rienzi  are  sufficiently  visible,  and  I  have  not  unsparingly 
shown  them  ;  but  we  must  judge  men,  not  according  as  they  approach  per- 
fection, but  according  as  their  good  or  bad  qualities  preponderate — their 
talents  or  their  weaknesses — the  benefits  they  effected,  the  evi'  they  wrought. 
For  a  man  who  rose  to  so  great  a  power.  Rienzi's  faults  were  singularly  few— 
crimes  he  committed  none.  He  is  almost  the  only  man  wiio  ever  rose  from 
the  rank  of  a  citizen  to  a  power  equal  to  that  of  monarchs  without  a  single 
act  of  violence  or  treachery.  When  in  power,  he  was  vain,  ostentatious, 
and  imprudent ;  always  an  enthusiast — often  a  fanatic  ;  but  his  very  faults 
had  greatness  of  soul,  and  his  very  fanaticism  at  once  supported  his  enthusi- 
astic daring,  and  proved  his  earnest  honesty.  It  is  evident  that  no  heinous 
charge  could  be  brought  against  him  even  by  his  enemies,  for  all  the  accusa- 
tions to  which  he  was  subjected,  when  excommunicated,  exiled,  fallen,  were 
for  two  offences  which  Petrarch  rightly  deemed  the  proofs  of  his  virtue  and 
his  glory  :  first,  for  declaring  Rome  to  be  fiee  ;  secondly,  for  pretending 
that  the  Romans  had  a  right  of  choice  in  the  election  of  the  Roman  Empe- 
ror.* Stern,  just,  and  inflexible,  as  he  was  when  Tribune,  his  fault  was 
never  that  of  wanton  cruelty.  The  accusation  against  him,  made  by  the 
gentle  Petrarch,  indeed,  was  that  he  wr.s  not  determined  enough  ;  that  he 
did  not  consummate  the  revolution  by  exterminating  the  patrician  tyrants. 
When  Senator,  he  was,  without  sufficient  ground,  accused  of  avarice  in  the 
otherwise  just  and  necessary  execution  of  Montreal. f  It  was  natural 
enough  that  his  enemies  and  the  vulgar  should  suppose  that  he  executed  a 
creditor  to  get  rid  of  a  debt ;  but  it  was  inexcusable  in  later,  and  wiser,  and 
fairer  writers  to  repeat  so  grave  a  calumny,  without  at  least  adding  the  obvi- 
ous suggestion,  that  the  avarice  of  Rienzi  could  have  been  much  better  grati- 
.:ed  by  sparing  than  by  destroying  the  life  of  one  of  the  richest  subjects  in 

Spirito  ;  and  his  bathing  in  the  vase  of  Constantine  was  quite  of  a  piece,  not  with  the  vanity 
A  the  Tribune,  but  with  the  extravagance  of  the  Fanatic.  In  fact,  they  tried  hard  to  prove 
aim  a  heretic  ;  but  he  escaped  a  charge  under  the  mild  Innocent,  which  a  century  or  two 
oeforc,  or  a  century  or  two  afterwards,  would  have  sufficed  to  have  sent  a  dozen  Rienzis  to 
i'le  stake.  1  have  dwelt  the  more  upon  this  point,  because,  if  it  be  shown  that  religious 
causer  operated  with  those  of  liberty,  we  throw  a  new  light  upon  the  whole  of  that  most 
extraordinary  revolution,  and  its  suddenness  is  infinitely  less  striking.  The  deep  impres- 
sion Rienzi  produced  upon  that  populace  was  thus  stamped  with  the  spirit  of  the 
religious  enthusiast  more  than  that  of  the  classical  demagogue.  And,  as  in  the  time  of 
Cromwell,  the  desire  for  temporal  liberty  was  warmed  and  colored  by  the  presence  ol  a 
holier  and  more  spiritual  fervor. — "The  Good  Estate"  (Buono  Stato)  of  Rienzi  reminds 
us  a  little  of  the  Good  Cause  ot  General  Cromwcil. 

*  The  charge  of  heresy  was  dropped. 

t  Gibbon  in  mentioning  the  execution  of  Montreal,  omits  to  state  that  Montreal  was 
more  than  suspected  of  conspiracy  and  treason  to  restore  the  Colonna.  Matthew  Villani 
records  it  as  a  common  belief  that  such  truly  was  the  offence  of  the  Provencal.  The  biog- 
rapher of  Rienzi  gives  additional  evidence  of  the  fact.  Gibbon's  knowledge  of  this  time 
was  superficial.  As  one  instance  of  this,  he  strangely  enough  represents  Montreal  as 
the  head  of  the.  first  free  company  that  desolated  Italy  :  he  took  that  error  from  the  Pere 
i^x  Cerceau, 


APPENDIX.  433 

Europe.  Montreal,  we  may  be  quite  sure,  would  have  purchased  his  life  at 
an  immeasurably  higher  price  than  the  pahry  sum  lent  to  Rienzi  by  his  broth 
ers.  And  this  is  not  a  probable  hypothesis,  but  a  certain  fact,  for  we  are 
expressly  told  that  Montreal,  "  knowing  the  Tribune  was  in  want  of  money, 
offered  Rienzi  that  if  he  would  let  him  go,  he  Montreal,  would  furnish  \hv 
not  only  with  twenty  thousand  florms  (four  times  the  amount  of  Rienzi 'if 
debt  to  him),  but  with  as  many  soldiers  and  as  much  money  as  he  pleased.'' 
This  offer  Rienzi  did  not  attend  to.  Would  he  have  rejected  it  had  avaricd 
been  his  motive  ?  And  what  culpable  injustice  to  mention  the  vague  calumny 
without  citing  the  practical  contradiction  !  When  Gibbon  tells  us,  also, 
that  '*  the  mosi  virtuous  citizen  of  Rome,  meaning  Pandulfo,  or  Pandolficcio 
di  Guido,*  was  sacrificed  to  his  jealousy,  he  a  little  exaggerates  the  expres- 
sion bestowed  upon  Pandulfo,  which  is  that  of  "virtuoso  assai";  and  that 
expression,  too,  used  by  a  man  who  styles  the  robber  Montreal  "  eccel- 
lente  uomo — di  quale  fama  suono  per  luita  la  Italia  di  virtude  "  f — (so  good  a 
moral  critic  was  the  writer !)  but  he  also  altogether  waives  all  mention  of  th?" 
probabilities  that  are  sufficiently  apparent,  of  the  scheming  of  Pandulfo  tc 
supplant  Rienzi, ^and  to  obtain  the  "Signoria  del  PopolOo"  Still,  however, 
if  the  death  of  Pandulfo  may  be  considered  a  blot  on  the  memory  of  Rienzi, 
it  does  not  appear  that  it  was  this  which  led  to  his  own  fate.  The  cry  of  the 
mob  surrounding  the  palace  was  not  "  Perish  him  who  executed  Pandulfo," 
it  was — and  this  again  and  again  must  be  carefully  noted — it  was  nothing 
more  nor  less  than,  *'  Perish  him  who  has  ?nade  the gabelle  1 " 

Gibbon  sneers  at  the  military  skill  and  courage  of  Rienzi.  For  this  sneer 
there  is  no  cause.  His  first  attempts,  his  first  rise  attested  sufficiently  his 
daring  and  brave  spirit  ;  in  every  danger  he  was  present — never  shrinking 
from  a  foe  co  long  as  he  was  supported  by  the  People.  He  distinguished 
himself  at  Viterbo  when  in  the  camp  of  Albornoz,  'in  several  feats  of 
arms,:|:  and  his  end  was  that  of  a  hero.  So  much  for  his  courage  ;  as  to  his 
military  skill,  it  would  be  excusable  enough  if  Rienzi — the  eloquent  and 
gifted  student,  called  from  the  closet  and  the  rostrum  to  assume  the  com- 
mand of  an  army — should  have  been  deficient  in  the  art  of  war  ;  yet,  some- 
how or  other,  upon  the  whole,  his  arms  prospered.  He  defeated  the  chiv- 
alry of  Rome  at  her  gates  ;  and  if  he  did  not,  after  his  victory,  march  to 
Marino,  for  which  his  biographer  §  and  Gibbon  blame  him,  the  reason  is 
sufficiently  clear  ;  "  Volea  pecunia  per  soldati" — he  wanted  money  for  the 
soldiers  !  On  his  return  as  Senator,  it  must  be  remembered  that  he  had  to 
besiege  Palestrina,  which  was  considered  even  by  the  ancient  Romans  almost 
impregnable  by  position  ;  but  during  the  few  weeks  he  was  in  power,  Pales- 
trina yielded — all  his  open  enemies  were  defeated — the  tyrants  expelled — 
Rome  free;  and  this  without  support  from  any  party,  Papal  or  Popular,  or,  as 
fiibbon  well  expresses  it, "suspected  by  the  People — abandoned  by  the  prince." 

On  regarding  what  Rienzi  did,  we  must  look  to  his  means,  to  the  difficul- 
ties that  surrounded  him,  to  the  scantiness  of  his  resources.  We  see  a  man 
without  rank,  wealth,  or  friends,  raising  himself  to  the  head  of  a  popular 
government  in  the  metropolis  of  the  Church — in  the  City  of  the  Empire. 
"We  see  him  reject  any  title  save  that  of  a  popular  magistrate  ;  establish  at 
one  stroke  a  free  constitution,  a  new  code  of  law.     We  see  him  first  expel, 

*  Matthew  Villani  speaks  of  him  as  a  wise  and  good  citizen,  of  great  repute  among  the 
People — and  this,  it  seems,  he  really  was. 

t  "  An  excellent  ni.in,  whose  fame  for  valor  resounded  throughout  all  Italy." 

X  Vit.  di  Col.  di  Rienzi,  lib.  ii.  cap.  14. 

§  In  this  the  anonj-^mous  writer  compares  him  gravely  to  Hannibal,  who  knew  how  tt 
conquer,  but  not  how  to  use  his  conquest. 


434  APPENDIX. 

ihen  subdu3,  tV.j  fiercest  aristocracy  in  Europe  *,  Conquer  the  most  stubborn 
banditti,  rule;  impartially  the  iriost  turbulent  people,  embruted  by  the 
violence  and  sunk  in  the  corruption  of  centuries.  We  see  him  restore  trade, 
establish  order,  create  civilization  as  by  r.  miracle,  receive  from  crov^'ned 
heads  homage  and  congratulation,  outwit,  conciliate,  or  awe,  the  wiliest 
priesthood  of  the  Papal  diplomacy,  and  raise  his  native  city  at  once  to  sud- 
den yet  acknowledged  eminence  over  every  other  State,  its  supeiiur  in  arts, 
wealth,  and  civilization  ;  we  ask  what  errors  we  are  to  weigh  in  the  oppo- 
site balance,  and  we  find  an  unnecessary  ostentation,  a  fanatical  extiava- 
gance,  and  a  certain  insolent  sternness.  But  what  are  such  offences — what 
the  splendor  of  a  banquet,  or  the  ceremony  of  knighthood,  or  a  few  arrogant 
words,  compared  with  the  vices  of  almost  every  prince  who  was  his  contem- 
porary? This  is  the  way  to  judge  character  :  we  must  compare  men  with 
men,  and  not  with  ideals  of  what  men  should  be.  We  look  to  the  amazing 
benefits  Rienzi  conferred  upon  his  country.  We  ask  his  means,  and  see  but 
his  own  abilities.  His  treasury  becomes  impoverished — his  enemies  revolt — 
the  Church  takes  advantage  of  his  weakness — he  is  excommunicated — the 
soldiers  refuse  to  fight — the  People  refuse  to  assist — the  Barons  ravage  the 
country — the  ways  are  closed,  the  provisions  are  cut  off  from  Rome.*  A 
handful  of  banditti  enter  the  city — Rienzi  proposes  to  resist  them — the  People 
desert — he  abdicates.  Rapine,  Famine,  Massacre,  ensue — they  who  deserted 
regret — repent — yet  he  is  still  unassisted,  alone — now  an  exile,  now  a  prisoner, 
his  own  genius  saves  him  from  every  peril,  and  restores  him  to  greatness.  He 
returns,  the  Pope's  Legate  refuses  him  arms — the  People  refuse  him  money. 
He  re-establishes  law  and  order,  expels  the  tyrants,  renounces  his  former 
faults  f — is  prudent,  wary,  provident — reigns  a  few  weeks — taxes  the  People,  in 
support  of  the  People,  and  is  torn  to  pieces  I  One  day  of  the  rule  that  fol- 
lowed is  sufficient  to  vindicate  his  reign  and  avenge  his  memory — and  for 
centuries  afterwards,  whenever  that  wretched  and  degenerate  populace 
dreamed  of  glory  or  sighed  for  justice,  they  recalled  the  bright  vision  of  Iheir 
own  victim,  and  deplured  the  fate  of  Cola  di  Rienzi.  That  he  was  not  a 
tyrant  is  clear  in  this — when  he  was  dead,  he  was  bitterly  regretted.  The 
People  never  regret  a  tyrant !  From  the  unpopularity  that  springs  from 
other  faults  there  is  often  a  reaction  ;  but  there  is  no  reaction  in  the  popu- 
lace towards  their  betrayer  or  oppressor.     A  thousand  biographies  cannot  de- 

*  "  Allora  le  strade  furo  chiuse,  li  massari  de  la  terre  non  portavano  grano,  ogni  die 
nasceva  nuove  rumore." — Vit.  di  Col.  di  Rienzi,  lib.  i.  cap.  37. 

t  This,  the  second  period  of  his  power,  has  been  represented  by  Gibbon  and  others  as 
that  of  his  principal  faults,  and  he  is  evidently  at  this  time  no  favorite  with  his  contem- 
poraneous biographer  ;  but  looking  to  what  he  did^  we  find  amazing  dexterity,  prudence, 
and  energy  in  the  most  difficult  crisis,  and  none  of  his  earlier  faults.  It  is  true,  that  he 
does  not  show  the  same  brilliant  extravagance  which,  I  suspect,  dazzled  his  contemporaries, 
more  than  his  sounder  qualities  ;  but  we  find  that  in  a  few  weeks  he  had  conquered  all  his 
powerful  enemies,  that  his  eloquence  was  as  great  as  ever,  his  promptitude  greater,  his  dili- 
gence indefatigable,  his  foresight  unslumbering.  "  He  alone,"  says  the  biographer,  "  carried 
on  the  affairs  of  Roine,  but  his  officials  were  slothful  and  cold."  This  too,  tortured  by  a 
painful  disease — already — though  yet  young— broken  and  infirm.  The  only  charges  against 
him,  as  Senator,  were  the  deaths  of  Montreal  and  Pandulfo  di  Guido,  the  imposition  of  the 
gabelle,  and  the  renunciation  of  his  former  habits  of  rigid  abstinence,  for  indulgence  in  wine 
and  fear/.in^.  Of  the  first  charges,  the  reader  has  already  been  enabled  to  form  a  judgment. 
To  the  last,  alas  !  the  reader  must  extend  indulgence,  and  for  it  he  may  find  excuse.  We 
must  compassionate  even  more  than  condemn  the  man  to  whom  excitement  has  become 
nature,  and  who  resorts  to  the  physical  stimulus  or  the  momentary  Lethe,  when  the  mental 
exhilarations  of  hope,  youth,  and  glory  begin  to  desert  him.  His  alleged  intemperance, 
however,  which  the  Romans  (a  peculiarly  sober  people)  might  perhaps  exaggerate,  and  for 
■which  he  gave  the  excuse  of  a  thirst  produced  by  disease  contracted  in  the  dungeon  of 
Avignon,  evidently  and  confessedly  did  not  in  the  least  diminish  his  attention  to  business^ 
Wbich,  according  to  his  biographer,  was  at  that  time  greater  than  ever* 


APPENDIX.  435 

cide  upon  the  faults  or  merits  of  a  ruler  like  the  one  fact,  whether  he  is 
beloved  or  hated  ten  years  after  he  is  dead.  But  if  the  ruler  has  been  mur- 
dered by  the  People,  and  is  then  regretted  by  them,  their  repentance  is  his 
acquittal. 

1  have  said  that  the  moral  of  the  Tribune's  life,  and  of  this  fiction,  is  not 
the  stale  and  unprofitable  moral  that  warns  the  ambition  of  an  individual : 
More  vast,  more  solemn,  and  more  useful,  it  addresses  itself  to  nations.  If 
I  judge  not  erringly,  it  proclaims  that,  to  be  great  and  free,  a  People  must 
trust  not  to  individuals  but  themselves  ;  that  ihere  is  no  sudden  leap  from 
servitude  to  liberty  ;  that  it  is  to  institutions,  not  to  men,  that  they  must  look 
for  reforms  that  last  beyond  the  hour;  that  their  own  passions  are  the  real 
despots  they  should  subdue,  their  own  reason  the  true  regenerator  of  abuses. 
With  a  calm  and  noble  people,  the  individual  ambition  of  a  citizen  can  never 
effect  evil — to  be  impatient  of  chains,  is  not  to  be  worthy  of  freedom — to  mur- 
der a  magistrate  is  not  to  ameliorate  the  laws.*  The  People  write  their  own 
condemnation  whenever  they  use  characters  of  blood  ;  and  theirs  alone  the 
madness  and  the  crime,  if  they  crown  a  tyrant  or  butcher  a  victim. 


APPENDIX  II. 

A  WORD  UPON  THE  WORK  BY  PERE  DU  CERCEAU  AND  PfeRE  BRUMOY, 
ENTITLED  "CONJURATION  DE  NICHOLAS  GABRINI^  DIT  DE  RIENZI, 
TYRAN   DE   ROME." 

Shortly  after  the  romance  of  "Rienzi"  first  appeared,  a  translation  of  the 
biography  compiled  by  Cerceau  and  Brumoy  was  published  by  Mr.  Whitta- 
ker.  The  translator,  in  a  short  and  courteous  advertisement,  observes, 
"  That  it  has  always  been  considered  as  a  work  of  authority  ;  and  even  Gib- 
bon appears  to  have  relied  on  it  without  further  research  :"  \. . .  .that  "  as  a 
record  of  facts,  therefore,  the  work  will,  it  is  presumed,  be  acceptable  to  the 
public."  The  translator  has  fulfilled  his  duty  with  accuracy,  elegance,  and 
spirit — and  he  must  forgive  me,  if,  in  justice  to  History  and  Rienzi,  I  point 
out  a  very  few  from  amongst  a  great  many  reasons,  why  the  joint  labor  of 
the  two  worthy  Jesuits  cannot  be  considered  either  a  work  of  authority,  or  a 
record  of  facts.  The  translator  observes  in  his  preface,  "  that  the  general 
outline  (of  Du  Cerceau's  work)  vi^s probably  furnished  by  an  Italian  life  writ- 
ten by  a  contemporary  of  Rienzi."  The  fact,  however,  is,  that  Du  Cerceau's 
book  is  little  more  than  a  wretched  paraphrase  of  that  very  Italian  life  men- 
tioned by  the  translator — full  of  blunders,  from  ignorance  of  the  peculiar  and 
antiquated  dialect  in  which  the  original  is  written,  and  of  assumptions  by  the 
Jesuit  himself,  which  rest  upon  no  authority  whatever.  I  will  first  show,  in 
support  of  this  assertion,  what  the  Italians  themselves  think  of  the  work  of 
Fathers  Brumoy  and  Du  Cerceau.  The  Signer  Zefirino  Re,  who  has  proved 
himself  singularly  and  minutely  acquainted  with  the  history  of  that  time,  and 

*  Rienzi  was  murdered  because  the  Romans  had  been  in  the  habit  of  murdering  when- 
ever they  were  displeased.  They  had,  very  shortly  before,  stoned  one  magistrate  and  torn 
to  pieces  another.  By  the  same  causes  and  the  same  career  a  People  may  be  made  to 
resemble  the  bravo  whose  hand  wanders  to  his  knife  at  the  smallest  affront,  and  if  to-day 
he  poniards  the  enemy  who  assaults  him,  to-morrow  -he  strikes  the  fri«nd  who  woul«| 
tvetrain. 

♦  Wtr^  h<»N»fi»v*n  h*  <low  injosf toe  to  Gibbon-- 


43^  APPENDrX. 

whose  notes  to  the  **  Life  of  Rienzi  "  are  characterized  by  aclcnowledged 
acuteness  and  research,  thus  describes  the  manner  in  which  the  two  Jesuits 
compounded  this  valuable  "  record  of  facts": 

*'  P'ather  Du  Cerceau  for  his  work  made  use  of  a  French  translation 
cf  the  life  by  the  Italian  contemporary  printed  in  Bracciano,  1624,  executed 
by  Father  Sanadon,  another  Jesuit,  from  whom  he  received  the  MS.  This 
proves  that  Du  Cerceau  knew  little  of  our  '  volgar  lingua'  of  the  fourteenth 
century.  But  the  errors  into  which  he  has  run  show  that  even  that  little  was 
unknown  to  his  guide,  and  still  less  to  P^ather  Brumoy  (however  learned  and 
reputed  the  latter  might  be  in  the  French  literature)  who,  after  the  death  of 
Du  Cerceau,  supplied  the  deficiencies  in  the  first  pages  of  the  author's  MS., 
•which  were,  I  know  not  hov/,  lost :  ana  in  this  part  are  found  the  more  strik- 
ing errors  in  the  work,  which  shall  be  noticed  in  the  proper  place  ;  in  the 
mean  time,  one  specimen  will  suffice.  In  the  third  chapter,  book  i.,  Cola, 
addressing  the  Romans,  says  :  '  Che  lo  giubileo  si  approssima,  che  se  la 
gente,  la  quale  verra  al  giubileo,  li  trova  sproveduti  di  annona,  le  pietre  (per 
metatesi  sta  scritto  le  preite)  ne  porterannoda  Roma  per  rabbia  di  fame,  e  le 
pietre  non  basteranno  a  tanta  moltitudine.'  II  francese  traduce  :  *Le  jubile 
approche,  et  vous  n'avez  ni  provisions,  ni  vivres  ;  les  etrangers  ....  trou- 
veront  votre  ville  denue  de  tout.  Ne  comptez  point  sur  les  secours  des  gens 
d'Eglise  ;  ils  sortiront  de  la  ville,  s'ils  n'y  trouvent  de  quo!  subsister  :  et 
d'ailleurs  pourroient-ils  suffire  a  la  multitude  innombrable,  que  se  trouvera 
dans  vos  murs  ? '  "  *  "  Buon  Dio  !  "  exclaims  the  learned  Zefirino,  "  Buon 
Dio  !  le  pietre  prese  per  tanta  gente  di  chiesa  !  "  | 

Another  blunder  little  less  extraordinary  occurs  in  chapter  vi.,  in  which 
the  ordinances  of  Rienzi's  Buono  Stato  are  recited. 

It  is  set  forth  as  the  third  ordinance  :  "  Che  nulla  casa  di  Roma  sia  data 
per  terra  per  alcuna  cagione,  ma  vada  in  commune  ";  which  simply  means 
that  the  houses  of  delinquents  should  in  no  instance  be  razed,  but  added  to 
the  community  or  confiscated.  This  law  being  intended  partly  to  meet  the 
barbarous  violences  with  which  the  excesses  and  quarrels  of  the  Barons  had 
half  dismantled  Rome,  and  principally  to  repeal  some  old  penal  laws  by 
which  the  houses  of  a  certain  class  of  ofTenders  might  be  destroyed  ;  but  the 
French  translator  construes  it,  "  Que  ntille  maison  de  Kome  ne  saroit  do7inde 
en  propre,  pour  quelque  raison  que  ce  put  etre  ;  mais  que  les  revenus  en 
appartiendroient  au  pubHc  !  "  % 

But  enough  of  the  blunders  arising  from  ignorance.  I  must  now  be  per- 
mitted to  set  before  the  reader  a  few  of  the  graver  offences  of  wilful 
assumption  and  preposterous  invention. 

When  Rienzi  condemned  some  of  the  Barons  to  death,  the  Pere  thus 
writes  ;  I  take  the  recent  translation  published  by  Mr.  Whittaker  : 

"  The  next  day  the  Tribune,  resolving  more  than  ever  to  rid  himself  of 
his  prisoners,  ordered  tapestries  of  two  colors,  red  and  white,  to  be  laid  over 
khe  place  whereon  he  held  his  councils,  and  which  he  had  made  choice  of  to 
be  the  theatre  of  this  bloody  tragedy,  as  the  extraordinary  tapestry  seemed 
to  declare.  lie  afterward  sent  a  cordelier  to  every  one  of  the  prisoners  to 
luiminister  the  sacraments,  and  then  ordered  the  Capitol  bell  to  be  tolled.  At 
that  fatal  sound  and  the  sight  of  the  confessors,  the  lords  no  longer  doubted 
t>i  sentence  of  death  being  passed  upon  them.     They  all  confessed  except 

♦  The  English  translator  could  not  fail  to  adopt  the  Frenchman's  ludicrous  mistake. 

t  See  Preface  to  Zefirino  Re's  edition  of  the  "  Life  of  Rienzi,"  p.  q,  note  on  T)u  Cerceau. 

X  The  English  translator  makes  this  law  unintelligible  ;  *'  That  no  family  of  Rome  shall 
appropriate  to  their  own  use  what  they  thiixkfit,  but  that  tho  rcvenuct  (b«U  appertain  tO 
fat  public  "  1  \    1'h«  r«venuc4  of  what } 


APPENDIX.  43^ 

the  old  Colonna,  and  many  received  the  communion.  In  tlie  mean  while 
the  people,  naturally  prompt  to  attejid,  when  their  first  itupetiiosity  had  time 
to  calm,  could  not  zvithout  pity  behold  the  dismal  prepaj-atious  7vhich  were 
making.  The  sight  of  the  bloody  color  in  the  tapestry  shocked  them.  On  this 
first  impression  they  joined  in  opinion  in  relation  to  so  many  illustrious  heads 
now  going  to  be  sacrificed,  and  lamented  more  their  unhappy  catastrophe,  as 
no  crime  had  been  proved  upon  them  to  render  them  worthy  of  such  bar- 
barous treatment.  Above  all,  the  unfortunate  Stephen  Colonna,  whose  birth ^ 
age,  and  affable  behavior  co?nmanded  respect,  excited  a  particular  compassion. 
An  universal  silence  and  sorrow  reigned  among  them.  Those  who  were  near- 
est Rienzi  discovered  an  alteration.  They  took  the  opportunity  of  imploring 
Jiis  mercy  towards  the  prisoners  in  terms  the  most  affecting  and  moving." 

Will  it  be  believed,  that  in  the  original  from  which  the  Pere  Du  Cerceau 
borrows  or  rather  imagmes  this  touching  recital,  there  is  not  a  single  syllable 
about  the  pity  of  the  people,  nor  their  shock  at  the  bloody  colors  of  the  tapestry, 
nor  their  particular  compassion  for  the  unfortunate  Stephen  Colonna  ? — in 
fine,  the  People  are  not  even  mentioned  at  all.  All  that  is  said  is,  "  Some 
Roman  citizens  (alcuni  cittadini  Romani),  considering  the  judgment  Rienzi 
was  about  to  make,  interposed  with  soft  and  caressing  words,  and  at  last 
changed  the  opinion  of  the  Tribune  ";  all  the  rest  is  the  pure  fiction  of  the 
ingenious  Frenchman  !  Again,  Du  Cerceau,  describing  the  appearance  of 
the  Barons  at  this  fatal  moment,  says:  "Notwithstanding  the  grief  and 
despair  visible  in  their  countenances,  they  showed  a  noble  indignation,  gener- 
ally attendant  on  innocence  in  the  hour  of  death.'*  What  says  the  authority 
from  which  alon^,  except  his  own,  the  good  Father  could  take  his  account  ? 
Why,  not  a  wo<d  about  this  noble  indignation,  or  this  parade  of  innocence  ! 
The  original  says  simply,  that  "  the  Barons  were  so  frozen  with  terror  that 
they  were  unable  to  speak  "  (diventaso  si  gelati  che  non  poteano  favellare)  ; 
"  that  the  greater  part  humbled  themselves  "  (e  prese  penitenza  e  comunione);' 
that  when  Rienzi  addressed  them,  "  «'// the  Barons  (come  dannati)  stood  in 
sadness.  "*  Du  Cerceau  then  proceeds  to  state,  that ' '  although  he  (Rienzi)  was 
grieved  at  heart  to  behold  his  victims  snatched  from  him,  he  endeavored  to 
make  a  merit  of  it  in  the  eyes  of  the  People."  There  is  not  a  word  of  this  in 
the  original ! 

So,  when  Paenzi,  on  a  later  occasion,  placed  the  Prefect  John  di  Vico  in 
prison,  this  Jesuit  says  :  "  To  put  a  gloss  upon  this  action  before  the  eyes  of 
the  People,  Rienzi  gave  out  that  the  Governor,  John  di  Vico,  keeping  a 
correspondence  with  the  conspirators,  came  wiih  no  other  view  than  to 
betray  the  Romans."  And  if  this  scribbler,  who  pretends  to  have  consulted 
the  Vatican  MSS.,  had  looked  at  the  most  ordinary  authorities,  he  would 
have  seen  that  John  di  Vico  did  come  with  that  view.  (See  for  Di  Vico's 
secret  correspondence  with  the  Barons,  La  Cron.  Bologn.  p.  406  ;  and  La 
Cron.  Est.  p.  444.) 

Again,  in  the  battle  between  the  Barons  and  the  Romans  at  the  gates,  Du 
Cerceau  thus  describes  the  conduct  of  the  Tribune  :  "  The  Tribune,  amidst 
his  troops,  knew  so  little  of  what  had  passed,  that  seeing  at  a  distance  one  of 
his  standards  fall,  he  looked  upon  all  as  lost,  and,  casting  up  his  eyes  to 
heaven  full  of  despair,  cried  out,  '  O  God,  will  you  then  forsake  me?  '  But 
no  sooner  was  he  informed  of  the  entire  defeat  of  his  enemies,  than  his  dread 
and  cowardice  even  turned  to  boldness  and  arrogance." 

Now  in  the  original  all  that  is  said  of  this  is,  "  That  it  is  true  that  the 
standard  of  the  Tribune  fell — the  Tribune  astonished  (or,  if  you  please,  dis' 

♦  See  Vita  di  Col.  di  Rienzi,  lib.  i.  cap.  29. 


43^ 


APPENDlJt, 


tnayed,  sbigottid)  stood  with  his  eyes  raised  to  heaven,  and  could  find  no 
other  words  than,  '  O  God,  hast  thou  betrayed  me  ?'  "  This  evinced,  per- 
haps, alarm  or  conslernalion  at  the  fall  of  his  standard — a  consternation 
natural,  not  to  a  coward,  but  a  fanatic,  at  such  an  event.  But  not  a  word  is 
said  about  Rienzi's  cowardice  in  the  action  itself  ;  it  is  not  stated  when  the 
accident  happened — nothing  bears  out  the  implication  that  the  Tribune  was 
remote  from  the  contest,  and  knew  little  of  what  passed.  And  if  this 
ignorant  Frenchman  had  consulted  any  other  contemporaneous  historian 
whatever,  he  would  have  found  it  asserted  by  them  all,  that  the  fight  was 
conducted  with  great  valor,  both  by  the  Roman  populace  and  their  leader  on 
the  one  side,  and  the  Barons  on  the  other, — G.  Vill.  lib.  xii.  cap.  105  , 
Cron.  Sen.  torn.  xv.  Murat.  p.  II9  ;  Cron.  Est.  p.  444.  Yet  Gibbon  re^ts 
his  own  sarcasm  on  the  Tribune's  courage  solely  on  the  baseless  exaggeration 
of  this  Pere  Du  Cerceau. 

So  little,  indeed,  did  this  French  pretender  know  of  the  history  of  the  time 
and  place  he  treats  of,  that  he  imagines  the  Stephen  Colonna  who  was  killeo* 
in  the  battle  above-mentioned  was  the  old  Stephen  Colonna,  and  is  very 
pathetic  about  his  "  venerable  appearance,"  etc.  This  error,  with  regard  to 
a  mun  so  eminent  as  Stephen  Colonna  the  elder,  is  inexcusable  :  for,  had  the 
priest  turned  over  the  other  pages  of  the  very  collection  in  which  he  found 
the  biography  he  deforms,  he  would  have  learned  that  old  Stephen  Colonna 
was  alive  some  time  after  that  battle. — [Cron.  Sen.  Murat.  tom.  xv.  p.  121.] 

Again,  just  before  Rienzi's  expulsion  from  the  office  of  Tribune,  Du 
Cerceau,  translating  in  his  headlong  way  the  old  biographer's  account  of  the 
causes  of  Rienzi's  loss  of  popularity,  says  :  *'  He  shut  himself  up  in  his 
palace,  and  his  presence  was  known  only  by  the  rigorous  punishments  which 
he  caused  his  agents  to  inflict  upon  the  innocent."  Not  a  word  of  this  in 
the  original  ! 

Again,  after  the  expulsion,  Du  Cerceau  says,  that  the  Barons  seized  upon 
the  "immense  riches"  he  had  amassed — the  words  in  the  original  are 
*'  grandi  ornamenti,"  which  are  very  different  things  from  immense  riches. 
But  the  most  remarkable  sins  of  commission  are  in  this  person's  account  of 
the  second  rise  and  fall  of  Rienzi  under  the  title  of  Senator.  Of  this  I  shall 
give  but  one  instance  : 

"  The  Senator,  who  perceived  it,  became  only  the  more  cruel.  His  jeal- 
ousies produced  only  fresh  murders.  In  the  continual  dread  he  was  in,  that 
the  general  discontent  would  terminate  in  some  secret  attempt  upon  his  per- 
son, he  determined  to  intimidate  the  most  enterprising,  by  sacrificing  some- 
times one,  sometimes  another,  and  chiefly  those  whose  riches  rendered  them 
the  more  guilty  in  his  eyes.  Numbers  were  sent  every  day  to  the  Capitol  prison. 
Happy  were  those  who  could  get  off  with  the  confiscation  of  their  estates." 

Of  these  grave  charges  there  is  not  a  syllable  in  the  original !  And  so 
much  for  the  work  of  Pere  Cerceau  and  Pere  Brumoy,  by  virtue  of  which 
historians  have  written  of  the  life  and  times  of  Rienzi,  and  upon  the  figments 
of  which  the  most  remarkable  man  in  an  age  crowded  with  great  characters 
is  judged  by  the  general  reader  ! 

I  must  bo  pardoned  for  this  criticism,  which  might  not  have  been  neces- 
sary, had  not  the  work  to  which  it  relates,  in  the  English  translation  quotcrd 
from  (a  trar:!ation  that  has  no  faults  but  those  of  the  French  original),  been 
actually  received  as  an  historical  and  indisputable  authority,  and  opposed 
with  a  triumphant  air  to  some  passages  in  my  own  narrative  which  were 
iiteialiy  takea  from  the  authentic  records  of  the  time. 

72i&  £MOb 


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Abbe    Constantin.      By    Halevy. 

Abbot,  The.     By   Sir  Walter   Scott. 

Adam   Bede.      By   George   Eliot. 

Addison's  Essays.  By  Joseph  Addison. 

.^neid   of   Virgil. 

yJ:op's  Fables. 

Alexander,    the   Great,    Life   o£.     By 

John    Williams. 
lAlfred,     the     Great,     Life     of.     By 

Thomas  Hughes. 
lAlhambra,   The.      Washington   Irving. 
Alice   in   Wonderland.    Lewis   Carroll, 
All    Sorts    and    Conditions    of    Men. 

By    Walter    Besant. 
Alton   Locke.     By   Charles   Kingsley. 
Amiel's   Journal. 
Andersen's   Fairy  Tales. 
Anne  of  Geirstein.     Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Antiquary,    The.      Sir    Walter    Scott. 
Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments. 
Ardath.     By  Marie   Corelli. 
Arnold,  Benedict,  Life  of.  By  George 

Canning    Hill. 
Arnold's    Poems.     Matthew   Arnold. 
Around     the     World     in     the     Yacht 

Sunbeam.  By  Mrs.  Brassey. 
Arundel  Motto.  Mary  Cecil  Hay. 
At  the  Back  of  the  North  Wind.    By 

George  Macdonald. 
Attic   Philosopher.    Emile    Souvestre. 
Autocrat  of  the  Breakfast  Table.  By 

O.   W.   Holmes. 
Bacon's   Essays.      By    Francis    Bacon. 
Barnaby  Rudge.   By  Charles  Dickens. 
Barrack    Room    Ballads.    By    Rudyard 

Kipling. 
Beulah.     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 
Black  Beauty.     By  Anna   Sewell. 
Black  Dwarf,  The.   Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Black   Rock.     By   Ralph   Connor. 
Black  Tulip,   The.     By  Alex.   Dumas. 
Bleak   House.        By  Charles   Dickens. 
Blithedale     Romance,     The.     By     Na- 
thaniel Hawthorne. 
Bondsman,  The.     By  Hall  Caine. 
Book  of  Golden  Deeds.  By  Charlotte 

M.   Yonge. 
Boone,   Daniel;  Life  of.    By  Cecil  B. 

Hartley. 
Bride  of  Lammermoor.  By  Sir  Walter 

Scott. 
Browning's    Poems.     (Elizabeth.) 
3r9>ynjng's  PoewSt     (Robert,). 


Bryant's   Poems.     W.   C.   Bryant. 
Burgomasters'  Wife.     George  Ebers. 
Burns'   Poems.    By  Robert  Burns. 
By  Order  of  the  King.  By  Hugo, 
Byron's   Poems.     By  Lord  Byron. 
Caesar,    Julius,    Life    of.      By    Janie* 

Anthony    Froude. 
Carson,    Kit,    Life    of.      By    Charle» 

Burdett. 
Gary's  Poems.  (Alice  and  Phoebe.) 
Cast  Up  by  the  Sea.     Sir  S.  Baker. 
Charles  Auchester.     By  E.   Berger. 
Character.     By   Samuel   Smiles. 
Charlemagne      (Charles     the     Great). 

Life   of.    By   Thomas   Hodgkin. 
Charles  O'Malley.   By  Charles  Lever. 
Chesterfield's      Letters.         By       Lord 

Chesterfield. 
Chevalier  de  Maison  Rouge.     By  Al« 

exander  Dumas. 

Children    of    the   Abbey.     By    Regina 
Maria    Roche. 

Chicot  the  Jester.     By  Alex.  Dumas. 

Child's      History     of     England.        By 

Charles   Dickens. 
Christmas    Stories.    Charles    Dickens, 
Cloister  and  the  Hearth.     By  Charles 

Reade. 

Coleridge's   Poems.      By   S.   T.   Cole- 
ridge. 

Columbus,    Christopher,   Life  of.     By 
Washington  Irving. 

Companions    of    Jehu,    The.      Dumas. 
Complete   Angler.   Walton   &  Cotton, 
Conduct   of    Life.    R.    W.    Emerson, 
Confessions  of  an  Opium  Eater.     By 
Thomas  de   Quincey. 

Conquest   of  Granada.     By  Washing- 
ton Irving. 

Conquest    of    Mexico,    Vol.    I.      By 
Wm.  H.   Prescott. 

Conqrest    of    Mexico.     Vol.    II,      By 
Wm.  H.  Prescott. 

Conquest  of  Peru.     Vol.  I.     By  Wm, 

H.   Prescott. 
Conquest  of  Peru.     Vol,  II.  By  Wm, 

H.  Prescott, 

Conspiracy    of    Pontiac     By   Francia 
Parkman,    Jr. 

Conspirators,  The.    Dumas. 
Consuelo.       By    George     Sand. 
Cook's  Voyages.  Captain  James  Cook.- 
Corinne.      By   Madame   de    Stael. 
Count  of  Monte  CristO,     Volt  h    B|f 
^e2(  Duma^« 


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Count    of    Monte     Cristo.       Vol.     II. 

By    Alex.    Dumas. 
Countess    de    Charney.    Alex    Dumas. 
Countess  of   Rudolstadt.   Geo.    Sand. 
Country  Doctor.   By  H.   de   Balzac. 
Courtship   of  Miles   Standish.    By  H. 

W.    Longfellow. 
Cranford.      By    Mrs.    Gaskell. 
Crockett,  David.    An  autobiography. 
Cromwell,  Oliver,  Life  of.     By  Edwin 

Paxton  Hood. 

Crusades,  The.    By  George  W.   Cox. 

Daniel  Deronda.     By  George  Eliot. 

Data  of  Ethics.    By  Herbert  Spencer. 

Daughter  of  an  Empress.  By  Louisa 
Muhlback. 

David   Copperfield.   Charles  Dickens. 

Days  of  Bruce.   By  Grace  Aguilar, 

Deemster,  'ITie.      By  Hall   Caine. 

Deerslayer,  The.    By  J.   F.   Cooper. 

Descent  of  Man.   By  Charles  Darwin. 

Discourses  of  Epictetus. 

Divine  Comedy,  The.  (Dante.) 
Translated  by  Rev.  H.  F.  Carey. 

Dombey    &    Son.    Charles    Dickens. 

Donal   Grant.     George  Macdonald. 

Donovan.     By   Edna   Lyall. 

Dove  in  the  Eagle's  Nest.  By  Char- 
lotte M.  Yonge. 

Dream  Life.     By  Ik  MarveL 

Dr.  Teky'l  and  Mr.  Hyde.  By  R.  L. 
Stevenson. 

Duty.     By  Samuel  Smiles. 

East  Lynne.   By  Mrs.   Henry  Wood. 

Education.     By  Herbert   Spencer. 

Egoist.      By    George    Meredith. 

Egyptian   Princess.     George   Ebers. 

Eight  liundred  Leagues  on  the  Ama- 
zon.     By   Jules    Verne. 

Eliot's   Poems.      By   George   Eliot. 
Elizabeth  and  Her  German  Garden. 
Elizabeth    (Queen    of    England),    Life 

oi.      Edward    Spencer    Beesly. 
Elsie  Venner.     By  O.   W.   Holmes. 
Emerson's    Essays.       (Complete.) 
Emerson's  Poems.     R.   W.   Emerson. 
Essays  in  Criticism.  Matthew  Arnold. 
Essays   of   Elia.      By    Charles   Lamb. 
Evangeline.    By    H.    W.     Longfellow. 
Fair  Maid  of  Perth.  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Fairly  Land   of   Science.   By  Arabella 

B    Buckley, 


Faust.      (Goethe.) 

Felix  Holt.      By   George   Eliot. 

Fifteen  Decisive  Battles  of  the  World. 
By    E.    S.    Creasy. 

File    No.    113.      By   Emile    GaboriaU. 
First   Principles.     Herbert   Spencer, 
First  Violin.   By  Jessie  FothergilU 
For  Lilias.     By  Roia  N.  Carey. 
Forty-Five    Guardsmen.       Dumas, 
Foul  Flay.     By   Charles   Reade. 
Fragments  of   Science.   John   Tyndall. 
Franklin,  _  Benjamin,     Life    of.       Aa 
autobiography.  » 

Frederick   the    Great    and   His   Court, 

By  Louisa  Muhlback. 
Frederick,    the    Great,    Life    of.      By 

Francis  Kugler.  . 

French   Revolution.  Tliomas  Carlyle. 
From    the    Earth    to    the    Moon.      By 

Jules  Verne. 

Garibaldi,  General,  Life  of.  By  Theo- 
dore  Dwight. 
Gil  Bias.     A.  R.  Le  Sage. 
Gold  Bug,  The.     Edgar  A.  Poe. 
Gold  Elsie.     By  E.  Marlltt. 
Golden   Treasury.  By  T.  Palgravc, 
Goldsmith's   Poems. 

Grandfather's     Chair.     By    Nathaniel 
Hawthorne. 

Grant,    Ulysses    S.,    Life    of.      By   J, 
T.    Headley. 

Gray's   Poems.     Thomas  Gray, 
Great  Expectations.     Charles  Dickens, 
Greek   Heroes.    Charles  Kingsley, 
Green    Mountain    Boys,   The,     By  D, 
P.  Thompson. 

Grimm's  Household  Tales, 
Grimm's   Popular   Tales. 
Gulliver's  Travels.     By  Dean   Swift. 
Guy   Mannering.     Sir  Walter   Scott. 
Hale,    Nathan,    the    Martryr    Spy.    By 
Charlotte    M.    Holloway.  ^ 

Handy   Andy.      By    Samuel    Lover. 

Hannibal,    the    Carthaginian,    Life   o£. 

By  Thomas  Arnold. 
Hardy  Norseman.   By  Edna  Lyall. 
Harold.      By   Bulwer-Lytton.  • 

Harry    Lorrequer.      Charles    Lever. 
Heart   of   Midlothian.   By   Sir  Walter 

Scott. 

Heir  of   Redclyflfe.     By   Charlotte  M. 
Yonge. 

Heman's  Poems.  By  Felicia  Hemans- 


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Henry    Esmond.    W.    M.    Thackeray. 
Henry,   Patrick,   Life   of.   By  William 

Wirt. 
Hereward.     By  Charles  Kingsley. 
Heroes  and  Hero-Worship.     By  Thos. 

Carlyle. 
Hiawatha.  By  H.  W.  Longfellow. 
liidden  Hand.     By  Mrs.   Southworth. 
History    of    Crime.      Victor    Hugo. 
History     of     Civilization     in     Europe. 

By  M.   Guizot. 
History  of  Our  Own  Times.     Vol.  I. 

By  Justin   McCarthy. 
History    of    Our    0\vn    Times.      Vol. 

II.     By  Justin   McCarthy. 
Holmes'  Poems.     By  O.  W.  Holmes. 
Holy  Roman  Empire.  James  Bryce. 
Homo    Sum.     By   George   Ebers. 
Hood's  Poems.     By  Thomas  Hood. 
House  of  the   Seven   Gables.     By  Na- 
thaniel   Hawthorne. 
Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame.  By  Victor 

Hugo. 
Hypatia.     By   Charles  Kingsley. 
Iceland  Fisherman.  By  Pierre  Loti. 
Idle  Thoughts  of  an   Idle  Fellow.  By 

Jerome   K.   Jerome. 
Iliad,    The.      Pope's    Translation. 
Inez.     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 
Ingelow's    Poems.      Jean   Ingelow. 
Intellectual  Life.     P.  G.  Hamerton. 
In   the   Golden   Days.   Edna   Lyall. 
Ishmael.      By    Mrs.    Southworth. 
It  Is  Never  Too   Late  to  Mend.     By 

Charles    Reade. 
Ivanhoe.     By   Sir  Walter   Scott. 
Jane  Eyre.     By  Charlotte  Bronte. 
Jefferson,  Thomas,   Life  of.   By   Sam- 
uel L.    Schmucker. 
Joan    of    Arc,    Life    of.      By    Jules 
f        Michelet. 

John  Halifax.     By  Miss  Mulock. 
Jones,    John    Paul,    Life    of.      James 

Otis. 
Joseph  Balsamo.     By  Alex.  Dumas. 

Josephine,    Empress    of    France,    Life 
of.     By  Fred  A.   Ober. 

Keats'  Poems,     By  John  Keats. 

Kenilworth.     By   Sir  Walter   Scott. 

Kidnapped.      By   R.   L.    Stevenson. 

King  Arthur  and  His  Noble  Knights. 
?y  Mary  Ms^^leod. 


Knickerbocker's  History  of  New 
York.      By    Washington   Irving. 

Knight   Errant.      By  Edna   Lyall. 

Koran,   The.     Sales   Translation. 

Lady  of  the   Lake.   By   Sir  W.   Scott. 

Lafayette,  Marquis  de.  Life  of.  By 
P.    C.    Headley. 

Lalla  Rookh.     By  Thomas  Moore. 
Lamplighter.      Marie    S.    Cummins. 
Last    Days    of    Pompeii.    By    Bulwer-  ' 
Lytton.  I 

Last  of   the   Barona.   Bulwer-Lytton.    , 

Last    of    the    Mohicans.       By     Jam^(  • 

Fenimore  Cooper.  !. 

Lee,  Gen.  Robert  E.,  Life  of.     By  G.  1 

Mercer    Adam. 

Lena  Rivers.     By  Mary  J.  Holmes. 
Les    Miserables.       Vol.     I.       By    Vic* 
tor    Hugo. 

Les  Miserables.  Vol.  II.  By  Vi<r 
tor    Hugo. 

Life  of  Christ.     By  F.  W.  Farrar. 
Life    of   Jesus.      By    Earnest    Renan. 
Light    of    Asia.      Sir    Edwin    Arnold. 
Light    That    Failed,    The.      By    Rud- 
yard   Kipling. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  Life  of.  By 
Henry   Ketcham. 

Lincoln's  Speeches.  By  G.  Mercer 
Adam. 

Literature  and  Dogma.  By  Mat- 
thew  Arnold. 

Little  Dorrit.  By  Charles  Dick- 
ens. 

Little     Minister,     The.       By     James 

M.    Barrie. 
Livingstone,     David.       Life    of.      By 

Thomas   Hughes. 

Longfellow's  Poems.  H.  W.  Long* 
fellow. 

Lorna  Doone.     R.   D.   Blackmore. 
Louise       de       la       Valliere.        Alex. 
Dumas. 

Lowell's  Poems.     J.   Rusell  Lowell* 

Lucile.     By    Owen    Meredith. 

Macaria.     Augusta  J.   Evans, 

Macauley's  Literary  Essays.  Bjl 
T.    B.    Macauley. 

Magic  Skin.     Honore  de  Balzac. 
Mahomet,       Life       of.         Washingtta 
Irving. 

Makers  of  Florence.  Mrs.  0U» 
phant. 

Ids^^rs  Qi  V€iii^«,    Mrs.  Oliphjwtr 


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Man  in  the  Iron  Mask.  By  Alex- 
andre  Dumas. 

Marble  Faun.     N.  Hawthorne. 

Marguerite  de  la  Valois.  By 
Alexandre  Dumas. 

Marius,  The  Epicurean.  By  Walter 
Pater. 

Marmion.      By    Sir    Walter    Scott. 

Marquis  of  Lossie.  Geo.  Mac- 
donald. 

Martin  Chuzzlewit.  Charles  Dickens. 

Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  Life  of. 
By  P.  C.  Headley. 

Master  of  Ballantrae,  The.  By  R. 
L.    Stevenson. 

Masterman  Ready.  Capt.  Mar- 
ryatt. 

Meadow  Brook.     Mary  J.  Holmes. 

Meditations    of    Marcus    Aurelius. 

Memoirs  of  a  Physician.  By  Alex- 
andre  Dumas. 

Micah  Clarke.     A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Michael   Strogoff.     Jules  Verne. 

Middlemarch.     By  George  Eliot. 

Midshipman  Easy.  Capt.  Mar- 
ryatt. 

Mill  on  the  Floss.  By  George 
Eliot. 

Milton's  Poems.     John  Milton. 

Minister's    Woping,    The.      By    Har- 
riet Becchex  Stowe. 
Monastery.       Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Montaigne's  Essays.  Vol.  I.  By 
Michel  de  Montaigne. 

Montaigne's    Essays.      Vol,    II.      By 
Michel  de  Montaigne. 

Moonstone,  The.  By  Wilkie  Col- 
lins. 

Moore's   Poems.     Thomas   Moore. 

Mosses  from  an  Old  Manse.  By 
Nathaniel    Hawthorne. 

Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue.  By 
Edgar  Allan   Poe. 

Mysterious  Island.     Jules  Verne. 

Napoleon  and  His  Marshals.  By 
J.  T.  Headley. 

Napoleon  Bonaparte,  Life  of.  By 
P.   C.   Headley. 

Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual 
World.        By   Henry    Drummond. 

Narrative    of    Arthur     Gordon     Pym. 

By  Edgar  Allan  Poe. 
Nature,     Addresses     and     Lectures. 

By  R,  Wt  Emerson, 


Nelson,     Admiral     Horatio,     Life     of. 
By    Robert    Southey. 

Newcomes.     The.       W.     M.    Thack- 
eray. 

Nicholas   Nickleby.     Chas.   Dickens. 

Ninety-Three.     By  Victor  Hugo. 

Not     Like     Other     Girls.       By     Rosa 
N.  Carey. 

Odyssey,  The.     Pope's  Translation. 

Old     Curiosity     Shop.       Chas.       Dick» 
ens. 

Old      Mam'selle's      Secret.        By     E. 
Marlitt. 

Old   Mortality.      Sir   Walter    Scott. 

Old    Myddleton's    Money.      By   Mary 
Cecil  Hay. 

Oliver  Twist.     By  Chas.  Dickens. 

Only    the    Governess.      By    Rosa    N. 
Carey. 

On  the  Heights.     B.  Auerbach. 

Oregon   Trail.     Francis   Parkman. 

Origin    of     Species.        Charles    Dar- 
win. 

Other      Worlds      Than      Ours.        By- 
Richard    Proctor. 

Our    Mutual    Friend.    Chas.    Dickens. 

Page   of  the  Duke  of  Savoy.   Dumas. 

Past   and    Present.     Thos.    Carlyle. 

Pathfinder,  The.  By  James  F.  Cooper. 

Paul  and   Virginia.      St.   Pierre. 

Pendennis.      Wra.    M.    Thackeray. 

Penn,     William,     Life    of.       By    WL 
Hepworth     Dixon. 

Pere   Goriot.     Honore  de  Balzac. 

Peter,   the   Great,   Life   of.    By  John 

Barrow. 
Phantom       Rickshaw,       The.  By 

Rudyard   Kipling. 
Philip    II.    of    Spain,    Life    of.      By 

Martin  A.   S.   Hume. 

Pickwick    Papers.      Charles    Dickens. 

Pilgrim's    Progress.     John    Bunyan. 

Pillar   of   Fire.     J.   H.    Ingraham. 

Pilot,   The.     James   F.   Cooper. 

Pioneers,  The.     James  F.   Cooper. 

Pirate,  The.      Sir  Walter   Scott. 

Plain     Tales     from    the     Hills.       By 
Rudyard    Kipling. 

Plato's    Dialogues. 

Pleasures  of  Life.     Sir  J.  Lubbock. 

Poe's   Poems.     By  Edgar  A,   Poe. 

Pope's    Poems.      Alexander    Pope, 

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Rev.   J.    H.    Ingraham. 
Princess   of   Thule.      Wm.    Black. 
Procter's    Poems.      Adelaide    Procter. 
Prue  and  I.     George  Wm.   Curtis. 
Putnam,   General   Israel,   Life  of.    By 

George    Canning    Hill. 
Put    Yourself    in    His    Place.    Charles 

Reade. 
Queenie's  Whim.     Rosa  N.  Carey. 
Queen's   Necklace.      Alex.   Dumas. 
Quentin   Durward.     Walter   Scott. 
Rasselas.      Samuel   Johnson. 
Redgauntlet.     Sir  Walter   Scott. 
Red   Rover.     By  James   F.   Cooper. 
Regent's   Daughter.   By  Alex.   Dumas. 
Representative  Men.   R,  W.  Emerson. 
Republic  of   Plato. 
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Marvel. 
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Richard   Lodge. 
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Rob  Roy.     Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Romance      of      Two      Worlds.  By 

Marie    Corelli. 
Romola.      By   George   Eliot. 
Rory  O'Moore.     Samuel  Lover. 
Rossetti's   Poems. 

Royal  Edinburgh.  Mrs.  OHphant. 
Rutledge.  Miriam  Coles  Harris. 
Samantha     at     Saratoga.       By    Josiah 

Allen's    Wife. 
Sartor  Resartus.     Thomas  Carlyle. 
Scarlet  Letter.     N'athanicl  Hawthorne. 
Schonberg-Cotta     Family.       By     Mrs. 

Andrew   Charles. 

Schopenhauer's   Essays. 
Scottish  Chiefs.     By  Jane  Porter. 
Scott's   Poems.      Walter   Scott. 
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Self-Help.      By    Samuel    Smiles. 
Self-Raised,     By  Mrs.  Southworth. 
Seneca's   Morals. 

Sense     and      Sensibility.        By     Jane 

Austen. 
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Sterne. 

Sesame   and   LilUes.       John   Ruskin. 


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son. 

Shelley's    Poems. 

Shirley.     By  Charlotte  Bronte. 

Sing    of    the    Four.      By    A.    Conan 

Doyle. 
Silas  Marner.     By  George  Eliot. 
Silence      of      Dean      Maitland.        BjR 

Maxwell    Grey. 
Sir  Gibbie.     George  Macdonald. 
Sketch  Book.     By  Washington  Ixving. 
Socrates,  Trial  and  Death  of. 
Soldiers  Three.     Rudyard  Kipling. 
Spy,   The.      By   James    F.    Cooper. 
Stanley,     Henry    M.,     Life    of.      By 

A.   Montefiore. 

Story     of     an     African     Farm.      BiJ 
Olive    Scbreiner. 

Story    of    John    G.    Paton.     By   RcT. 
Jas.  Paton. 

St.  Elmo.     By  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

St.   Ronan's  Well.     Walter  ScotL 

Study  in  Scarlet.     A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Surgeon's    Daughter,    The,      By    Sic 
Walter   Scott. 

Swineburne's   Poems. 

Swiss    Family    Robinson.      By    Jeati 
Rudolph  Wyss. 

Taking    the    Bastile,    Alex.      Dumas. 

Tale    of    Two    Cities,       Chas.    Dick* 

ens. 

Tales        from       Shakespeare.  Bj| 

Charles  and   Mary   Lamb. 

Tales    of    a    Traveller.      By    Wzsh* 
ingfton  Irving. 

Talisman.     Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Tanglewood       Tales.  N.       Haww 

thorne.  ) 

Tempest    and    Sunshine.      By    MaryT 
J.  Holmes.  { 

Ten  Nights  in  a  Bar  Room.    By  T.  S, 

Arthur. 

Tennyson's   Poems. 

Ten  Years  Later,     Alex.  Dumas. 

Terrible  Temptation.       Charles  Reade. 

Thaddeus     of     Warsaw.       By     Jane 
Porter. 

Thelraa.    By  Marie  Corelli. 

Thirty    Years'    War.       By    Frederick 

Schiller. 

Thousand   Miles   Up   the   Nile*       By 
Amelia  Bt  Sdwards* 


BURT'S  HOME  LIBRARY,     Cloth.     Gilt  Tops.     Price.  $1.25 


Three  Guardsmen.     Alex  Dumas. 

Three  Men  in  a  Boat.     Jerome. 

Thrift.      By   Samuel    Smiles. 

Throne  of  David.     J.  H.  Ingraham. 

Toilers  of  the  Sea.     Victor  Hugo. 

Tom  Brown  at  Oxford.  By  Thomas 
Hughes. 

Tom  Brown's  School  Days.  By 
Thos.  Hughes. 

Tour  of  the  World  in  Eighty 
Days.     By  Jules  Verne. 

Treasure  Island.  R.  L.  Steven- 
son. 

Twenty  Thousand  Leagues  Under 
the  Sea.     By  Jules  Verne. 

Twenty  Years  After.     Alex.  Dumas. 

Twice  Told  Tales.     N.   Hawthorne. 

Two  Admirals.     By  J.   F.   Cooper. 

Two  years  Before  the  Mast.  By 
R,   H.   Dana,  Jr. 

Uarda.     By  George   Ebers. 

Uncle  Max.     Rosa  N.  Carey. 

Urcle    Tom's     Cabin.       By     Harriet 

Beecher  Stowe. 
Under   Two   Flags.     By   "Ouida." 
Utopia.     By  Sir  Thomas  Moore. 
Vanity   Fair.     Wm.   M.   Thackery. 
Vendetta.     By   Marie    Corelli. 
Vicar     of     Wakefield.        By     Oliver 

Goldsmith. 

iVicomte  de  Bragelonne.  By  Alex- 
andre Dumas. 

Views  A-Foot.     Bayard  Taylor. 
Villette.     By  Charlotte  Bronte. 
Virginians,     Wm.  M.  Thackeray. 
,Wald»n.     By  Henry  D.  Thoreau. 


Wandering    Jew,    The.      Vol.    I.      By 
Eugene   Sue. 

Wandering   Jew,   The.      Vol.    II.      By 
Eugene   Sue. 

Washington    and   His    Generals.     By 
J.  T.  Headley.  ' 

Washington,     George.     Life    of.      By 

Jared   Sparks. 
Water    Babies.      Charles   Kingsley. 
Water   Witch.     James   F.    Cooper. 
Waverly,     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Webster,       Daniel,       Life       of.         By 

Samuel  M.  Schmucker. 
Webster's  Speeches.      (Selected). 
Westward  Ho.     Charles  Kingsley. 
We   Two.      By   Edna   Lyall. 
White  Company.     A  Conan  Doyle. 
Whites  and  the  Blues.     Dumas. 
Whittier's  Poems.     J.  G.  Whittier. 
Wide,      Wide      World.        By      Susan 

Warner. 

William,     the     Conqueror,     Life     of. 

By   Edward  A.   Freeman. 
William,     the     Silent,     Life    of.       By 

Frederick  Harrison. 

Window  in  Thrums.     J.  M.  Barrie. 

Wing   and   Wing.      J.    F.    Cooper. 

Wolsey,      Cardinal,     Life     of.         By 
Mandell  Creighton. 

Woman  in  White.     Wilkie  Collins. 

Won  b>    Waiting.     Edna   Lyall. 

Wonder  Book.     N.  Hawthorne. 

Woodstock.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Wordsworth's  Poems. 

Wonnwood.    By  Marie  Corelli. 


i 


MAR  1 1  1970 


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